


Secret Chord

by ScarletConductor



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Clothes Porn, Explicit Language, F/M, Genderbending, Guns and shit, Handcuffs, I want a fluffy sweater!, Kinda, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Mads's "I'm feeling some strong emotion" lip thing, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Possible Character Death, Possible Daddy Kink, Sex, Strippers, Ugh, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, an I right?, but the nice kind, face smashing, girl!adam - Freeform, kinda violent, non con if you squint, not realy, ragdoll - Freeform, sometimes, the fuck is happening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletConductor/pseuds/ScarletConductor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Adam Raki's father dies, her Uncle comes to take her to Romania with him, where he has arranged for her to stay.<br/>This will have some aspects of the movie Adam but it is based in the Charlie Countryman universe.Girl!Adam/Nigel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Minor Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So, there are some location issues that I tried to figure out but couldn't, such as, the Marco Polo Youth Hostel is a twelve minute walk from the HUNGARIAN Opera house, not the Romanian one and I don't think that Charlie walked 760 km in one night(Since it's physically impossible) and THEN went out partying, so this takes place in Bucharest. 
> 
> Also, all of the errors are my own.
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy!

I’m waiting for Gabi to finish putting her possessions into the wooden locker. I should have just left after I had talked to her before her performance; my body is tired from the trip and the events of today. But I didn’t, I stayed, like she asked me to and now I sit upon my instrument case reading through one of the only books I was able to bring with me hoping that she will not take much longer as my exposed legs pebble from the cool air. I am vaguely aware of someone entering the room but I decide not to investigate further on it. I trace my fingers over the crude illustrations on the pages and wish that I could understand why I agreed to this, I could have stayed at the apartment in New York. I would have been fine.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

I look up from my worn copy of The Stars: A New Way to See Them and watch as a tall man in a charcoal colored suit walks towards Gabi, he comes to a stop in front of her and rests a closed fist against the wooden door of locker number 24. His hair is a mix of shining silver tones and golden honey, the light reflects off the strands in a way that reminds me of stars in the night sky. I want to go outside.

“What are you doing here, Nigel?” Gabi asks as she looks down and then back to the man. Nigel.

“Partaking of the Arts. Care of the soul.” He replies. “Listen, I happened to hear about old Victor’s spectacular and horrible passing. And I came back to pay my respects.”

“How could you have heard? It only just happened.” Gabi asks as she cocks her head to the side.

I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, they are slowly getting louder as the person moves further down the hall before they come to a stop and move around the hallway outside of the doorway.

“Now you know me, always an ear to the ground when it comes to the disposition of my darling Gabi.”

I wonder, idly, if he is aware of my presence as I rub my sweater-covered fingers against my right eye and pull my hat further over my ears before turning the page of my book.

“Who’s this then?”

I look up to see the man’s eyes flicker form me and focus on whoever is in the hall. I look to Gabi for some sign, but she is not looking at me either. I choose to ignore this after I decide I am not the one who caused the disturbance.

The person in the hallway is moving again, I see them enter the room from the corner of my eye and notice the dirt that falls onto the floor in his wake.

“Who are you?” The man with the dirty shoes asks.

“I’m Nigel. Who the fuck are you?” His tone of voice seems fine, but his choice of words would indicate the opposite.

“Charlie.” The dirty shoed man replies, his voice is low, he sounds uncertain. This is the man from the plane, I realize, the one that sat next to my uncle.

I look up again in an attempt to gauge the emotions of the people in the room but I fail. I should be better at this by now.

“Who the fuck is Charlie, Gabi?”

The man’s voice is definitely not within the normal parameters this time. I allow myself to study his face closely. This man is beautiful, his face betrays nothing of the emotions he is feeling but his eyes are not lost like mine become in this kind of situation. No, his eyes look dark, almost hard. I look away from his eyes quickly and focus on his mouth instead, he has oddly shaped lips, full but thin at the same time. His lips and jaw tense and relax. I cannot help but stare.

Gabi moves closer to the man, “Charlie is an American, “she pauses for a moment, "tuba player. Here to observe the company.”

My eyebrows furrow slightly, I am unsure why she is saying that.  Nigel turns back to look at her and I shift my boot clad feet closer to my body.

“He is, homosexual.” Gabi says and I bite into my lip to keep from saying anything. If Charlie is homosexual, he’s not very good at it.

Nigel turns back around, “Is he now?”

I close my book and rest it beside me on the large case before I lean my elbows onto my knees. My long hair falls and pools onto the ground, but I do not mind. I wonder if I could leave without drawing too much attention to myself, but I doubt I could.

“Must make you quite the star cock sucker around here, Charlie”

I can’t control the bubbling laughter that escapes my chest, I know I shouldn’t be laughing but I find myself unable to stop. I glance up to see Nigel’s dark eyes on me, a small smile tugging at his lips. The  laugh is choked off immediately after I meet his eyes and I look back down to my hands quickly.

“Nigel, what do you want? Charlie, you should leave.” Gabi’s raised voice making me jump and cover my ears

I hear something muffled through my hands and sweater but refuse to take my hands away. I don’t want any more loud noises.

I see Charlie move further into the room, disregarding Gabi’s wishes, and sit on the bench to my left. Nigel moves closer to Charlie and more muffled words are exchanged. I weigh the chances of there being more raised voices and slowly move my hands away from my ears before glancing at the people in the room.

“Nigel, was my husband.” Gabi says and I look to the man in question to see him turn to Gabi quickly.

“I beg your pardon, Gabi. Did you say was? Honestly? Fucking was?” His voice deepens as he says this.

“Gabi..” He says in something close to a whisper before turning towards Charlie and shifting closer.

“No, Charlie, not fucking was. Fucking is.” He says loudly, causing me to flinch and curl my fingers around my neck, before he turns back to Gabi, “Fucking meaning I currently fucking am ‘till death do us fucking part.” Nigel leans closely to Gabi as he finishes his sentence.

“You!” I hear Bela say from across the room.

“If it isn’t the shrieking cunt himself. Hello, Bela.” Nigel says.

“You will go immediately, or I will call the police.” Bela says lowly.

I decide in that moment that I will make my own way my apartment, Gabi has my number and I don’t feel like lingering around for the rest of this. I pick up my book and curl the fingers of my empty hand around the handle of my case.

“Go!” Bela shouts and I jump up and make my way from the room and through the door to my right before rushing down the hall.

“Adam!” I hear Gabi shout my name but I decide to ignore it as I continue through the hallway that will lead to the closest exit.

 I push through the door and make my way to the street before coming to a stop and raising the hand with my book in it to attract the attention of a tax as I hear the door to the Opera House open behind me.

 I inhale deeply and look up, the sky is clear tonight and I can see stars that haven’t seen before.

A taxi pulls to a stop at the curb where I am standing as I feel someone come up beside me. The driver of the vehicle gets out and takes the heavy case from my hand before opening the rear door and lifting the lid of the trunk open wider. I slide into the middle of the backseat, where I like to sit, before leaning over and reaching for the door handle. Before I can reach it, Nigel slides into the seat beside me and shuts the door firmly. I contemplate moving over, to allow him more room, but decide against it. I’ve made myself uncomfortable enough tonight, I decide.

The driver climbs into his seat and glances back as he says something in Romanian, I open my mouth to tell him the appropriate address but Nigel beats me to it. I don’t understand what he says, but the driver pulls away from the curb and makes a sharp turn before speeding up.

I chew my bottom lip for a few minutes, before I decide it would be best to ask where we are going.

“What did you say to him?” I ask, gesturing to the driver. I allow my eyes to look out of the window beside Nigel so that I can see him in my peripheral vision. His head is turned towards me, but I can’t tell where his eyes are focused without looking directly at him.

“Tell me, how it is that you know my darling Gabi and I will answer your question.” He bargains.

“You know, in criminal law, kidnapping is the taking away or transportation of a person against that person's will, usually to hold the person in false imprisonment, a confinement without legal authority. This, for instance, could be concerted kidnapping.” I tell him as I tug the sleeves of my sweater down further to cover my hands.

Nigel laughs loudly and I cover my ears against the unexpected sound reverberating through the enclosed space before shutting my eyes and leaning my chest against my legs.

I feel him shift beside me, his wool covered leg shifting against my thigh. Strong fingers curl around my right wrist and pulls slowly causing me to release my ear.

“Hey now, none of that.” I can feel his breath against my skin, a shudder rolls through my body and I sit up and slide over towards the unoccupied seat. Before I can make it very far, he yanks my wrist back, causing me to fall against him.  Inhale sharply and the rush of heat my chilled body receives as I scramble to right myself. I tug my skirt back down over my thighs and attempt to free my hair from where it has coiled into the tear on the seat where I was previously sitting.

Nigel releases my wrist and I use my freedom to gently ease the pale strands out of the cracked faux leather. I feel my hat slide form my head and Reach out to grasp it, my hand meets skin and I look up to see Nigel’s fingers clutching the red knit hat. I look down and pull my hair over my left shoulder to keep it from any more harm.

“Will you answer my question?” I ask, “Please?” I add after a moment of silence, remembering that it is what follows an inquiry.

“I will answer your question after you answer mine, Little Adam. A strange name for such a gorgeous girl, yes?” One of his fingers hooks into my hair and pull a section of hair around my neck before he twirls it around his phalanges

“Gabi is my,” I try to find the words that would covey the proper meaning, “estranged adoptive cousin.” I finish. ”My father was her father’s adoptive brother. I’ve never met her before today.”

“I see. And what are you doing here?”

“I am in a taxi, waiting to arrive at an unknown destination.” I say, thinking his question is rather odd. I feel him pull my hair tightly.

“What are you, fucking retarded? What are you fucking doing in Bucharest?” His voice is louder than it was before, but not painfully so.

“Oh…Um. No, I’m n-not retarded…I’m not sure what I’m doing here, really. I haven’t had the chance to think about it yet. Victor was supposed to tell me, but, he died.”

I turn my head and stare at the lights that slide along outside of the window and I hear Nigel inhale deeply and some shuffling of clothes. A small metallic noise sounds and I smell the kind of smoke that clings to him fill the air in the cab.

I clear my throat of the saliva building up ans swallow.“Six minutes.”

“What was that?” He asks.

“6 minutes,” I repeat. “It’s something I used to say to my Dad to try to get him to quit smoking. A cigarette takes 6 minutes off your life, so every time he’d light one I’d say “That’s 6 minutes less that I get to spend with you.” I reply before glancing at him.

He inhales from the cigarette deeply before glancing down at me and placing his left arm over the back of the seat, my hair still between his fingers.

“Did he quit smoking, then?” He asks as he exhales.

I shake my head, “He died.” I reply as I feel him pull firmly on my hair once again.

“And is that why you’re here, in Bucharest?” He murmurs as he lays his head back against the seat.

“Yes.” I reply simply.

I can’t help but remember the apartment in Manhattan, my house, I want to go back there. I want to be away from all of this. Away from the cool air and language that I don’t understand. I want to ask the woman that had just moved in on the floor above mine if she could see the stars from the third floor. The stars, I want those stars back, the ones here are new, how can I find comfort in memorized patterns if I can’t see them.

I sigh and move my head around to see which constellations I can recognize without my telescope. I spot Leo, Hercules, and Coma Berenices from the driver’s side window.  I look over to Nigel in an attempt to gauge his emotional state, but there are no outward indicators. His rhythmic motions of raising the cigarette to his lips and drawing it back are slow and almost peaceful. 

I can see Saturn from the window beside his head, I move onto my knees to avoid touching him and lean my arms against the door.

“What’s your favorite star?” I ask as I press the pads of my fingers to the window.

“My favorite star?” He inquires.

“Yes, your favorite star. Mine is Zeta Pegasi, or, Homam.” I glance at him briefly before sitting back on my haunches and squeezing my fingers around the sleeve of my sweater. The temperature seems to have raised we move deeper into the city, a welcomed change from the cool weather I had been experiencing.

“Zeta Pegasi is a single star in the northern constellation of Pegasus. It has the traditional name, Homam, meaning "Man of High Spirit" or "Lucky Star of High Minded". With an apparent visual magnitude of +3.4, it’s bright enough to be seen with the naked eye and is one of the brighter members of Pegasus. Parallax measurements place it at a distance of around 204 light-years or, 63 parsecs, from Earth.”

I hear him laugh again and frown, I was not aware of any humor in what I said.

“Who has a favorite fucking star?”

My frown deepens and I slide back until my back is resting against the Driver’s side door, “I do.” I reply before leaning my head back against the glass.

“I want to go to my home now.” I tell him as I bring my hands up to rest against my neck.

“Yeah? Well, do you know what I want, Little Adam? I want to know who the fuck Charlie Countryman is.”

“He’s an American. He was on the plain, he sat beside Uncle Victor.” I tell him, “I- Gabi said that he was homosexual, but if he is, he’s not a very good one and I never saw a case either.”

I imagine Charlie making the puffy face as he plays a tuba and I laugh, a grin tugging at my face.

I feel fingers curl around my ankle and tighten until it’s almost painful, “What’s funny then?” Nigel asks.

“Charlie,” I reply, the remnants of my smile fading from my face, “playing a tuba.”

My eyes fall upon his lips and I can see his unusually sharp looking teeth as he grins.

“Doing that Dizzy Gillespie with his cheeks, yeah? Where he goes all Puffy-fish like.”

“John Birks "Dizzy" Gillespie was an American jazz trumpeter, bandleader, composer and occasional singer,” I say, correcting him. “In the 1940s Gillespie, together with Charlie Parker, became a major figure in the development of bebop and modern jazz. He taught and influenced many other musicians, including trumpeters Miles Davis, Jon Faddis, Fats Navarro, Clifford Brown, Arturo Sandoval, Lee Morgan, Chuck Mangione, and balladeer Johnny Hartman.”

Nigel’s finger alternate between stroking the skin of my leg softly and circling my ankle, “Was he now, that’s very interesting.”

His menstruations are causing my body to react in odd ways, I know that these feelings are arousal but I find that this is an odd time for my body to be responding in this way.

“Are you excited?” I ask him, his fingers pause for a moment and I swallow the saliva that has built up in my mouth.

“What?” He asks, as he tosses his cigarette out of the crack at the top of the window. 

“Sexually,” I expand on my previous question, “Because I am.”

He is quiet now, and his fingers have returned to squeezing my ankle instead of the alternating movements.

“I-I ask because I am, and I am wondering if you are too.” I scan his face before looking away and clenching my fists repeatedly.

“What are you fucking asking me, kid? If I want to fuck you?” He asks, his voice loud.

“Not…Not exactly,” I say, “I asked you if you are sexually excited. The thing that you’re doing,” I swallow nervously, “with your fingers? That is-that’s causing a warm feeling to settle in my abdominal area which is one of the signs of sexual arousal.”

His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are traveling over me, but he remains silent.

“Uh, sometimes i-i-it's hard for me to, um–,” I stumble over my words, ”I have this thing that makes it hard to, um- to a- It's called Asperger's syndrome.” I finally manage to get the words out and I look at his face again, but it remains clear of emotions.

“One thing about it is not knowing what people are thinking.” I continue, and wait for a response.

“Like, like right now.” I’m getting increasingly more uncomfortable as this silence stretches on, but, before I can open my mouth to explain any further the Taxi comes to a stop and the driver turns around and says something to Nigel, who proceeds to pull his wallet from his pocket and hand the driver a few bills.

He opens the door and steps out of the car as the driver gets out and walks to the back of the cab to retrieve my case.

Nigel pulls me by my ankle until my knees are past the edge of the seat before he offers me his hand. I star at his hand for a moment before taking it and pulling myself up and out of the vehicle. The driver hands my case to Nigel and shuts the trunk lid firmly before getting back into the cab and driving away.

I curl and uncurl my hands as I look around, trying to figure out where I am and how to get to my apartment from here.

“Come.” Nigel says as he takes hold of my wrist and pulls me towards the steps leading up to the large illuminated building.

“Where- where are we going?” I ask as I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk before curling my other hand into the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home, Adam.”


	2. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoke, stars, and little dogs on shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING, some of the dialogue used in this chapter is based on real life events.  
> And here it is, ladies and gents!  
> Also, before we start, I would like to dedicate this chapter to [psychae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/psychae)  
> , thank you for your contributions and being there to bounce my ideas off of.
> 
> Also, the song that Adam plays is, [Tina Guo : Prelude from Bach's Cello Suite No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqOawrB4jwI) . and there will be a small * to click in the writing if you would like to start the song, just right click and select open new tab/window, otherwise it will open it in your current tab/window.

The dark cherry wood under my sock clad feet gleams from the illumination of the city lights coming through the wide, wall-like, window across the room that spans from one side of the room to the other. Thick dark brown curtains are pushed to one side of the glass wall, opposite to that there is a sliding glass door that leads out onto a balcony.

 I glance down at my discarded boots that I had placed under that table beside the door upon Nigel’s request of, “Make yourself comfortable, Kitten.” before he walked down the hallway and out of my line of sight.

I pull the soft white sweater from my shoulders and fold it into a neat square before setting it onto the table and picking up the heavy case beside my feet before pulling my long sleeves back into place and making my way towards the window. I set the case down softly before leaning my forehead against the pane of glass and looking down at the busy city streets. I hadn’t realized that we had been this high up, the shiny golden elevator didn’t have any working indicators of which floor it stopped on and the buttons didn’t light up like the ones in New York had.

I twist my head to the side and stare up at the sky. It’s clear out tonight, the few clouds that are visible smother the shine of stars as they drift across the sky, following the wind with devotion. I look over to where the balcony is, it has thick stone railing and a few pieces of furniture, from my place can see that it wraps around the side of the building.

I take a few smooth breaths before standing up straight and glancing around the room, my eyes fall on a high sitting ottoman that is in front of its chair mate. I move to the center of the room and look down the long hallway. All of the doors are closed and there is a small amount of hazy steam rolling out from under one of them. I inhale deeply and wring my fingers together for a moment before I make my way to the ottoman and drag it back towards the window. I stop when I have reached my case and take a seat before pulling one of the many hair ties out of my pocket and placing it on my thigh while I plait my hair over my right shoulder.

When I finish on my hair, I lean over and pull on the ends of my socks, pulling them off my feet in one smooth motion. I consider putting them into my pocket but decide against it as I rise from my seat and move to stuff the small bolts of material into the toes of my boots. I flex my purple tipped toes against the smooth, dark, wood before walking back to the ottoman and resuming my seat and opening my cello case. I remove my small cloth purse I had tucked into the space beside the neck at the beginning of the night and place it beside me on the plush seat before I run my fingers over the long, gleaming gold plated telescope that is secured safely into its custom space that runs alongside the side of the cello.

 The sight of my telescope sooths my nerves instantly and I gaze lovingly at my most prized possession. I run the pads of my fingers over the cold metal of the sunshade and consider setting it up but decide against it.

 I pull the long bow out of its groove and set it beside my thigh. The sleek, chestnut stained instrument inside the red lined case is large compared to my small, barely five-foot, frame. The full sized cello stands 4 feet even when stood straight up.

I lean down, release the velveteen straps securing the neck, and lift the instrument from its case before resting it on the small rubber stand guard of the endpin. I move my feet into a Demi Pointe possession and rest my knees against the sides of the cello. I finger the strings softly, ensuring that they are still in tune, before I pick up the bow resting beside my thigh and move it a few inches away from the strings. I inhale deeply before glancing down at my finger placement, checking for non-existent errors in my form, and close my eyes. [*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqOawrB4jwI) My bow touches the strings and the haunting sound of Bach's Prelude from Cello Suite No. 1 pours from the F-Holes and fills the room. 

I rock my body with the melody, a gentle sway that will climb with the climax of the song, I tilt my head to readjust the braid that falls against my arm with the vigorous movements. The toes of my right foot curl and I slowly slide them across the smooth wood until my leg is extended fully and diagonal from the rest of my body. I play like this until the rise in tempo and I snap my leg back into the starting position, the movements cause my gauzy skirt to settle higher onto my thigh. My fingers rock smoothly on the strings as I raise my bow and allow the final sounds of the song to fade.

I keep my eyes closed for a moment as I breathe slowly in the now silent room before I open my eyes and stroke my finger down the strings in an OCD-esque kind of way. I exhale and relax my feet before carefully laying the cello back into its case. I refasten the straps under the strings on the neck before placing the bow back into its assigned place alongside the body of the instrument and close the case lid.

I smooth my hands over my rumpled skirt, slip the long strap of my purse over my head and right shoulder, before I stand and rise up into en pointe to stretch before covering my mouth with my left hand before a yawn can escape. I relax me feet until they are flat and run my right hand down my braided hair, my finger coiling in the loose strands at the end.

My stomach aches with hunger and I drop my hand from my hair to rest it on my flat abdomen, I think back on the last thing I had to eat before getting on the plane and wonder if I will be able to find Amy's frozen macaroni and cheese or if I will have to experiment with other brands. I frown at the thought of deviating from yet another routine.

“You play the Cello too then, yeah? Like Gabi?”

I look up to see Nigel, leaning against the wall inside of the hallway, a towel around his shoulders. The suit he’d had on before has been replaced with some kind of expensive looking dark pants and button up shirt with little dachshunds on it. His hair is wet and falling in deep honey strands around his face as he rubs the towel over it.

“Um no, not-not professionally like Gabi.” I glance down to the case beside my feet as my stomach emits a small growl.

“What do you do then?” Nigel asks as he stalks across the room and into the exposed Kitchen, he takes two tumblers out of the cabinet beside the sink and opens the fridge.

“Well, I- I used to- Uh, I help make toys?” I try to explain, I don’t do anything right now I have no job.

“So you’re a fucking elf then?”

I giggle and look down at my toes, “Um, no. No, I'm an electronic engineer. The little dolls that talk? Or the plastic dinosaurs that walk? Or- or even the books that you touch the little pen to and it says the words under the tip? I made those.” I explain and look up to see Nigel pouring orange juice into one of the tumblers, his eyes flicker between the glass and me every few seconds.

“And this thing that you have, it doesn’t get in the way of all your tinkertoy-ing?” He asks.

I shake my head, “No, not at all… My brain just- my brain works differently from N.T.'s.” Nigel places the juice bottle back into the fridge, picks up the glass with the orange juice in it and slides it across the bar counter and nods to me. I walk over and pick up the glass, the liquid looks slightly cloudy so I smell it before bringing the glass up to my lips and taking a drink. There is a bitter flavor that clings to my tongue, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. 

“N.T.’s?” I nod my head, my lips still attached to the rim of the cup as I watch him pour a translucent brown liquid from a liquor decanter into the second glass.

”Neurotypicals.” I murmur into the cup before I take another drink and set it down on the countertop. “Sometimes I can't understand them...Especially when they mean something different from what they're actually saying.” My head feels slightly fuzzy so I rest my hands on the countertop, the cool marble is smooth under my palms.

“And you don’t do that?” He asks as he walks by me and takes a seat on the leather couch, “Come. Sit.” He says as he waves me back into the area of the room with my case in it. I pick up my glass, finish the juice, and take a seat on the chair that matches the ottoman before curling my legs up underneath me. 

“No,” I shake my head, “most Aspies are really honest.” It’s quiet for a moment and I bite my lip before continuing, “Uh, psychologists think it's a lack of imagination. But psychologists are mostly N.T.'s.” I elaborate before inhaling deeply and leaning my head back onto the backrest of the chair.

“Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, Mozart, they all had lots of imagination.” List off as I stare up at the stippled paint, seeing stars on the celling that should not be there.

“And they had what you have?” Nigel inquires. I roll my head to the right so that I can look at him, my eyes settle on his mouth as he takes a sip from his glass, the liquid swirling and creeping up the edges of the glass.

“Probably.” I watch his lips curl over his teeth slightly as he makes a small sound after he swallows the liquid in his mouth.

“When I was younger... I would have just thought you were sexually excited because I was.” I say quickly with an unfamiliar the need to explain my words from earlier, “That's called mind blindness.” I tell him, “I had to learn to ask what other people are thinking.” I run my palm down the soft velvet-like material of the chairs arm. Every soft fiber brushes the miniscule spaces between the ridges of my fingerprints, tickling them; I feel my arrector pili muscles contract and pull the downy hairs that scatter my arms erect as a shudder passes through my body. My body is tingling, as if every nerve is being stimulated at the same time, I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my abdomen.

Nigel leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, he’s staring at me expectantly when I allow myself a glance before settling my eyes on the buttons at his collar, “And tell me, did you learn to ask for what you want, or do you make others guess?”

 His voice is low and his throat vibrates with the words, I want to reach out and feel it, to compare the tremors to the strings of my cello or the twinkling of the stars as light passes through the atmosphere and is refracted, making the light fluctuate. 

“I can’t actually make anyone do anything,” I explain, “Let alone guess my feelings or wants. However, I have learned that it’s best to just ask for what you want. If you don’t ask then you’ll probably never get it.” I drawl as I slide my tongue over the ridges on the roof of my mouth.

Nigel hums as he tilts his glass of alcohol from side to side before reaching his free hand into the pocket of his trousers, his silver bracelet sliding higher onto his wrist, and pulling a soft pack of cigarettes out. I squirm at the thought of smoke filling the room, knowing that it will irritate my sensitive lungs and leave mucus in my nose and throat.

Nigel handles the pack with skill, with a flick of his wrist the filter of a cigarette raises up out of the foiled top before he wraps his lips around it and returns the pack to his pocket and pulling out a lighter. His tanned hand brings the lighter closer to his face before he lights his cigarette. I cannot move my eyes from the end of the cigarette, the way that the finely packed tobacco turns a bright red when he inhales before dimming in a way that causes my chest to ache with the loss of his attention.

Nigel slides his fingers over his lips and grips the cigarette between his pointer and index fingers knuckles, the tip of his tongue flicks the inside of his lip quickly before he draws more air into his lungs and exhales a smooth stream of smoke that moves towards me lethargically.

I pull my sleeves down over my palms and bring them up to enclose my mouth and nose and making a filter for the contaminated air. I close my eyes and can almost feel the thickened mist moving over my skin as another tremor passes through my body.

“Not a fan of smoking, are you?”  
“No,” I open my eyes, my voice is slightly muffled by the layers in front of my mouth, “I had explained that in the cab, I thought.”

He laughs and stands before walking over to the glass door and pulling it opened. A gust of wind blows through the room, causing the curtains to stir and ruffle my dress.

“Come on then.” Nigel says before stepping out onto the balcony and seating himself on something just out of my line of sight.

I stand, my hands still cupped over my mouth, and walk out to join him. I tilt my head up, the clouds from before seem to have drifted away on the wind, leaving the night sky a deep, inky, expanse with millions of twinkling lights swimming in it. I turn towards the door and allow my hands to drop as I move backwards, my gaze fixed on the sky.

“Careful.” Nigel says as I back into the thick railing, “Wouldn’t want you falling, now would we?”

I blink rapidly, my eyes never settling on a single star as small light trails slide across the sky, following my bouncing pupils from each massive, luminous sphere of plasma my greedy gaze can take in. I lean backwards until the small of my back is resting against the top of the railing and turn my body so that I am laying across the cool cement rail.

“Did you know that stars don’t actually twinkle? Turbulence in the sky just makes them look like they are blinking.” I turn my head to the side but my eyes stay fixed.

“And did you know that stars are made out of dust clouds scattered throughout space? The turbulence within these dust clouds gives rise to knots, which later on develop mass, allowing gas and dust to collapse and while the cloud collapses, the object that is present at the center starts to heat up and that hot core becomes a star?” I take a deep breath and mash my lips together to, hopefully, stop myself from rambling.

“You really do love all of this stuff, don’t you? The stars and shit, I mean.” I break my gaze and look over to him, meeting his eyes brazenly.

“Until clouds do us fucking part.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, it would be much appreciated.


	3. Eclectic Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ralai, angelie, Jarta, Juoya, Nekorse, TheRover, and Silvia for leaving me lovely comments! And thank you to everyone that has left Kudos and Subscribed/Bookmarked my story! You're all awesome!
> 
> As usual, this is not Beta read, so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out to me!!
> 
> I'm sorry this has taken me so long, I started it a while ago and got discouraged. 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!

"What's a gorgeous little girl like you doing with a name like Adam?” Nigel asks as I move my fingers over the focus knob gingerly, rolling it between the pads of my thumb and forefinger with precision as I carefully bring Venus into focus.

“My mother gave me my name. She made my father promise that I would be named Adam, after her father.” I say, keeping my attention on the task at hand.

“It’s an odd name for a girl, yes? Even in America?” He asks.

“Yes, I suppose.” I respond.

“Do you have to be fucking difficult?” Nigel asks.

I look up at him, unsure of what he means.

“I wasn’t aware I was being difficult.” I reply softly before looking back into the eyepiece.

Nigel sighs, “Tell me how you came to have the name Adam. Why you have a masculine name and a cunt.”

I lean back slightly, blink a few times, and then resume my ministrations.

“My parents were under the impression that they were having a male child. My mother believed in the old wives tales about pregnancies. She carried low, the ring on the chain pointed to a boy. She was set on Adam, and when she died giving birth to me, my father wanted to honor her wishes, he told them my name before he knew my gender.

“Do you carry that thing with you everywhere you go?” Nigel asks, changing the topic of conversation.

“My telescope?” I ask, and he hums a confirmation, “Whenever possible, yes. “ I reply from my spot on the floor of the balcony, my knees ache from the cold, hard surface but I am determined to show Nigel just how beautiful the stars are. Or, at least try.

“That must make it rather difficult to travel.” He says.

“I suppose it could, but I don’t see it that way.” Such thoughts had never crossed my mind.  I am under the impression that it is socially acceptable to do whatever it takes to keep something you love. Perhaps I am wrong.

I make a few minor adjustments, ensuring that I have the clearest image, before I sit back on my haunches and move to the right, making sure to allow Nigel enough room to join me on the cement floor.

“I would like to show you something. Would you, please, join me?” I ask, making sure to word it as a question as my eyes focus on the chain that is nestled into the fine hairs on his chest.  I move my eyes to his nose, hoping to replicate eye contact as I await his reply.

Night exhales, a stream of smoke drifts upward becoming less and less visible, as he makes his way towards me. He comes to a stop and takes another drag from his cigarette before he flicks it over the railing of the balcony and crouches down.

“You’ll have to get onto your knees,” I say and gesture towards where my own knees are pressed into the cement, “so you don’t jostle the telescope trying to look into the eyepiece.”

Nigel makes a grunt like noise as he shifts onto his knees and leans down to look into the telescope, the chain slipping out of his shirt and dangling around his neck.

“What am I looking at here?” He asks.

“Oh, that’s Venus!” I say eagerly and look up to the planet he is viewing, “Venus is the second planet from the Sun, orbiting it every 224.7 Earth days and has no natural satellite. Venus was named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty. After the Moon, it is the brightest natural object in the night sky, reaching an apparent magnitude of −4.6. That’s bright enough to cast shadows!”

I pause for a moment and look down at him, taking advantage of his being distracted to study him and to allow time for Nigel to respond.  He has curled his large fingers around the diagonal softly, not to move the telescope’s direction, just seeming to ground him to the cool metal.

“Hmmm.” He replies and I frown, dragging my eyes from him and back up to the sky. I’m not disappointed, really, having known from experience that most people have no response to my ramblings and it would be foolish to hope for more than confused appreciation.

“Because Venus is an inferior planet from Earth,” I start cautiously, “it never appears to venture far from the Sun: its elongation reaches a maximum of 47.8 degrees. Venus reaches its maximum brightness shortly before sunrise or shortly after sunset,” I explain, “which is why people referred to it as the Morning Star or Evening Star.” I exhale and lean my head against the railing.

“I chose Venus for you tonight because I felt that you could appreciate its namesake if nothing else.” I say as I stare up at the planet.

“Perhaps the Romans found the brightness to be so enchanting that they felt it deserved to be named after the goddess of beauty and love.” Nigel says.

I look to him, shocked by his thoughtful response, and meet his eyes for a moment before looking away and smiling widely.

“Perhaps.” I say, still grinning. I am elated to have someone, even if it is just for this moment, that can see what I see when I look to the sky. He may be standing a few feet away from where I am, most people are, but it’s close enough for the two of us to see the same stars.

My stomach emits a low growl as my previously forgotten hunger makes itself known. I hear Nigel’s throaty laugh and I glance towards him in confusion.

“I am hungry.” I say plainly, failing to find humor.

“I hear that, darling.” He uses a different pet name this time. He reaches his hand out, curls his fingers around my braid, and pulls me towards him.

I swallow thickly and stare at his chin, my hands curing and uncurling in distress until I am forced to place my left palm onto the cement to keep from falling into his lap.

His hot breath washes over my face and I shudder at the contrast in temperature and look down at my hand that is resting beside his clothed leg.

“Just what would satisfy your hunger, my darling Adam?” Nigel asks, his voice soft and low.

I bite my bottom lip and receive a tug on my hair that has me exhaling shakily. The sensation is not painful, quite the opposite, actually, the strain on my scalp sets the nerves running throughout my back and arms off in the most pleasant of ways.

“Do,” I pause, thinking my answer through and arrange the words in my head properly, “do you have Amy’s Macaroni and cheese? Is that something that I could purchase in the stores here?” I ask and focus my eyes on his nose as I curl my fingers into the skirt of my dress.

Nigel’s throaty laugh sounds, it leaves me confused once again and I let out a frustrated groan.

“Why do you keep laughing at what I say? Nothing I’ve said has been even remotely humorous. My inquiries are properly worded and non-demanding and I have not made any jokes.” I say quickly, and then whimper as Nigel loops my hair around his fist again, increasing the tension on my scalp.

“I like you better when you’re babbling about the fucking stars and not using that beautiful mouth to piss me the fuck off.” Nigel leans closer to me and I shut my eyes and work to keep my breathing pattern even. His fingers release my hair and move brush against my cheek, the rough pads stimulating the soft flesh of my face.

 “I have to go out for a bit, I’ve some things to take care of,” Nigel says, his fingers sliding from my cheek to curl around my neck,” you be a good girl and stay put, yeah? You wouldn’t want me to have to come looking for you, darling.” Nigel’s fingers tighten as he nears the end of his sentence.

I nod my head in agreement. I can hear my pulse in my ears, a soft pulsing sound, like waves crashing against rocks.

“Good girl.” Nigel’s fingers release my throat and both of his hands curl around my upper arms, pulling me to stand with him.  I open my eyes quickly and sway in place before reaching my arms out behind me to grip the railing.

An almost nauseous feeling seeps through me and I swallow the saliva that rushes into my mouth.

Nigel releases my arms and walks backwards with a wide grin stretched across his face, his lips pulled back revealing his pointed teeth. I shudder and take a few steps back until I’m resting against the railing.

“I’ll be back soon, maybe I’ll be able to track down something for you to ear while I’m gone. Can’t have a pretty girl like you going hungry, now can we?”  I don’t answer, my legs feel shaky and I’m suddenly aware of the cars rushing on the street below me, and how close to the edge I am. I curl my fingers around the edge of the railing and slide down it slowly, my back pressed tightly to the cool stone.

When I look up, Nigel is gone and the lights in the room are shifting around like sparklers. I curl my toes against cement flooring of the balcony, my eyes fixed on the lights that are slowly turning sideways.

The side of head hits something hard and I blink rapidly and roll my eyes, around trying to focus, before I notice that the whole apartment has turned onto its side.  I’m not sure when I had started to slide to the right but I can feel the chill seeping through my thin layers and resting atop my skin.

I roll sluggishly onto my back and stare up at the sky. The constellations are chaotic, the stars are jumbled and misplaced, as if someone had scooped them up and shook them between their hands before releasing them back into the sky.

I pant, trying to clear my mind of this sticky film, each puff of breath flows from my body in shades of yellow and orange, they flicker and swirl until the breeze sweeps them away from my view.

I turn my head to the side and look at my telescope, the gold casing seems to shudder like molten metal. I flip my arm out and grip the leg closest to my hand before pulling the tripod over my body , two legs beside my ribcage and one over my shoulder, and arrange the main body so the objective lens is pointed up to the stars.

I fold one arm behind my head, my fingers snagging the dark strand and tangling against my scalp as I stare through the telescope at the sky. The sky seems to breathe and shudder under my magnified gaze. The occasional drifting cloud, sliding moon, and shifting stars tells me that some stretch of time has passed.

The legs of the telescope feel like they are pinning me to the ground. I move the telescope carefully to rest beside my body and roll onto my stomach, my cheek pressed into the smooth concrete.

A pair of shoes appears within my line of sight and I follow the dark slacks up to a loud shirt with little dogs. Nigel is grinning as he crouches beside me and runs his fingers over my cheek, pulling hair coated in saliva from where it had seeped out of my opened mouth and pooled on the concrete. 

“Such a good girl.” His lips move three quarters of I minute before the words drift to my ears and I frown at him, annoyed at his lack of synchronization.

Nigel laughs and rolls me onto my back, his eyes drift down my body, pausing for a moment as they reach something within the vicinity of my ribcage before the right side of his mouth lifts up into a smirk and his hand brushes over my left breast and hardened, fabric covered, flesh of my nipple.

I gasp and curl my right arm around my chest to guard my over sensitized skin.

Nigel chuckles, curls his hands under my arms, and lifts me from the ground as if I weigh nothing. My hands flail before I wrap my limbs around his body to steady myself, my knees clinging to his hips as my calves splay against his thighs. Blood rushes to my brain and my head feels heavy as I rest my cheek against Nigel’s shoulder as he carries me into the living room.

“I brought you something, pretty girl.” The vibrations roll from his body and into mine, oscillating every inch of my skin that is pressed against him.

He seats himself on the couch and my legs fold to rest alongside Nigel’s. He grips my sides and pulls me back as my fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt to keep myself from falling.

Nigel’s laugh sounds again and he pulls my hands form his shirt before turning my swiftly so that my back is flush against his chest.

He places a hot, plastic, take away box on my thighs and sweeps my hair over my shoulder to rests his chin on the cleared area.

“From the best restaurant in town, I had it made special for you, darling.” Nigel’s smooth voice rolls over my shoulder as he reaches out and opens the container, his other arm sliding around my waist.

The smell of melted cheese and pasta reaches my nose and my mouth floods with saliva as my neglected stomach makes its emptiness prominent.

I reach my hand out, fully intending on picking the spiral pasta up piece by piece with my fingers, before Nigel catches my hand and plucks a piece of the smothered pasta up with his own fingers and brings it to my mouth.

I lean forward slightly, wrap my lips around his fingers, and moan in pleasure as the hot, melted, cheese coats my tongue. It’s not Amy’s Macaroni and Cheese, but it is delicious.  

“If that isn’t one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever fucking heard.” Nigel says as he repeats his motions, feeding me the slowly cooling pasta one piece at a time until the container is empty and my hunger is sated.

I lean my head back and chew the last piece of pasta slowly. Nigel presses his cheese-covered fingers against my lips and I flick my tongue out to catch the sauce that clings to his fingers. Nigel’s arm tightens against my stomach and he shifts his hips up against me as my tongue curls around his pointer finger.

He pulls his finger from my mouth and turns my head towards his before he pushes his lips against mine.

I gasp against his lips and his fingers curl into my hair, holding my head more securely, as his tongue slides into my mouth. My tongue flicks at the intrusion reflexively. I can taste the remainders of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and something warm and purely Nigel on his tongue and I whimper as one of my hands curl around his forearm and the other against his neck.

I feel Nigel’s lips pull back from his teeth slightly and a growl-like noise rolls from his chest.  His hands move and turn me around before I can register the pre movements and I sit back on his knees, my chest heaving with labored breath.

Nigel grips the skirt of my dress and yanks it over my head, the hair tie in my hair snagging on a button and pulling free of my hair as my dress leaves my body. I cry out and grip my head where the sting of pulled hair settles in my scalp.

Nigel’s hands curl around my hips, his fingers brushing the top of my panties, before sliding up the length of my body. His thumbs rest underneath my small breasts and he leans forward, his lips press into my left cheekbone as he murmurs an apology.

His right hand slides around to my back and he presses me against his chest as he shifts to lie on his back against the cushions of the couch.

The string of sudden movements makes my head spin and I sit up, leaning back against Nigel’s bent knees. My head lulls back and hangs beside his calves as his hands roam across my body.

One of Nigel’s digits brushes against my panties, directly over my throbbing clitoris, and my body lurches forward, my hands curling around his wrists. Nigel shushes me and moves the pad of his thumb in a circle over my sensitive bud, slowly at first but his ministrations pick up speed.

My thighs shake as my lungs convulse and my abdomen clenches. I move my hand away from the one that Nigel has pressed against my clit and grip his thigh.  Nigel’s fingers tighten around my hip as he growls out, “Fucking look at me, baby.”

I roll my eyes to his and hold the contact for as long as possible before settling them on his lips. Nigel’s hips push up against me, pressing his hardened phallic against my labia and my head falls back as I tighten my fingers around his wrists, my nails digging into the skin of his wrist and thigh as my abdomen pulses and my muscles coil.

I rock my hips, trying to push myself harder against Nigel’s hips, and cry out as Nigel slides one of his thick, warm fingers up inside of my opening.

 My back is arched over his knees as I whimper, both of my hands now gripping Nigel’s clothed thighs, and try to focus my eyes as my inner walls flutter around Nigel’s finger. I feel like I’m under water, sound is muffled and a haze drifts around the edges of my vision.

Nigel growls out, “Fuck.” as he thrusts his hips up, presses his thumb against my throbbing nub, and pushes his finger deep inside of me before curling it forward and stroking something inside of me that causes my whole body to freeze.

The throbbing pleasure in my abdomen floods through my body, blocking out all sounds, as every muscle tightens and releases in a flood of pleasure that leave me tingling, my mouth falls open and a choked sob tears from my throat as the haze swallows my vision until it’s drenched in blackness and the rhythmic pulses leave bright flashes in the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....That happened... What do you think? Too soon?


	4. Stateless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hint of alcohol and spice lingers on his breath and washes over me in warm bursts with each exhalation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so unbelievably sorry this took so long, I hope you're all still out there....Hello?....Anyone?...Well fuck, here it is.
> 
> As usual, this is not Beta read, so I'm to blame for my mistakes. Remember, if you love me, you have to love all of me...Even my typos...

The scent of sandalwood, musk, and a spice I am unfamiliar with invades my nostrils as consciousness seeps over me and I curl into the heated mass under my body. A breeze rolls across my exposed back, pulling lightly at the sheet that covers my lower body, as heavy weight curls over my ribcage.

I pull my eyelids open, raise my head from the slightly moistened  surface that my face had fused onto, and glance around the unfamiliar darkened room.  City lights push through the opened windows as orange tones creep across the walls and floor.

I drop my eyes to the sleeping figure that I am lying against as I attempt to remember how I wound up here.  The memories haze inside of my mind and I vaguely recall the scent of melted cheese and the feeling of rough hands across my bare flesh.  I look down at my body and find that I am clothed in an unfamiliar dress shirt, the sleeves are cropped and the few buttons that are done up are not in their proper holes.

I realize that array of scents I smell is coming from Nigel. The hint of alcohol and spice lingers on his breath and washes over me in warm bursts with each exhalation. 

I carefully remove myself from Nigel’s grasp and slide from the bed and onto the floor. My knees meet the stained wood with a small noise and I turn at the sound of rustling sheets and see that Nigel has rolled onto his side. A long scar stretches across his lower abdomen in a jagged silver streak and his hair falls over his eyes.

I wait for a moment, stand, and make my way to the door before stepping out into the hallway. The lights are off but I can see the orange hues in the living room from my place in the hallway.

 I walk down the hall slowly with my hand outstretched against the wall and pause when I get to the living room.

My dress is on the floor beside the couch and a takeaway container is lying opened on the coffee table. I walk out onto the balcony and carefully disassemble my telescope before carrying it inside and placing it back into the case.

I remove my purse, secure the fasteners on my case, and set it upright on the floor before I stand and pick my dress up off the floor. I inspect the gauzy fabric and find that one of the thin straps has been torn off on one side before folding the garment and setting it onto the couch.

I retrieve my boots and sweater before I take a seat on the red chair and dig through my purse for my cell phone. I see that I have several missed calls and text messages from Gabi’s cellular phone and a few from uncle Victor’s house phone before I check my battery level. The small image of a battery shows that it has fifteen percent left.

I pull my sweater on and pull my socks from my boots before I slip them both on and step into my boots. I slip my purse around my neck and shoulder before I shove my dress into it, type the address into my phone’s GPS and sigh as it tells me that I am in for a fifteen minute ride before I search the internet for a cab service that caters to tourists.

I call the cab company, read off the name of the conjoining streets to the operator from my GPS and pick up my case.  I compile a mental list as I walk out the door and make my way towards the elevator. I push the button and extend the shoulder strap on my case before slipping it over my shoulder and securing it against my breastbone.

The elevator dings and I step into the boxy compartment, push the bottom button, wait for the doors to close, and wait as the elevator ascends. 

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open to the well-lit lobby that I had walked through earlier this evening.  I make my way to the entrance and push the heavy metal and glass door open before stepping out into the chilled air. I step out onto the first step and search my pockets for my hat briefly before I make my way down to the sidewalk.

The scent of cigarette smoke seeps into my nostrils as the sole of my boot meets the concrete.

“Hello, beautiful girl.”

I look to my right and see a figure leaning against a signpost a few feet from the stairs, his face washed in a warm glow by the burning ember at the end of his lit cigarette.

“You wouldn’t be able to tell me if a man is in that building, now would you?”

I furrow my eyebrows before I start, “I do not know. Statistically speaking, approximately sixty five percent of the residents in a building this size are male. But you seem to be looking for one specific man, not just any man.” I glance down the street to see it the cab has arrived before I turn back to the man.

He laughs and flicks his cigarette to the ground before stepping in it as he makes his way towards me. I grip the strap on my case tightly as he enters into my ‘personal space’ as my father called it, before I glance up and assess him.

His dark hair is cropped close to his scalp and he has a partially healed wound on his right temple. His suit reminds me of the one Nigel was wearing before his shower.

“Now you, you I like,” He says as he slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small square of paper.

“I’m looking for this man, curajos mici. Tell me, have you seen this man?”

I look down in confusion before I see that what I had assumed was a piece of paper is a photograph, a photograph of Nigel with this dark man in some sort of club.

I purse my lips, “If I had seen this man why would that be of your concern?  I would assume that he could find his own way home if he became lost, him being a grown man and all, isn’t that right?”

He laughs again and grabs my hand, I tense and jerk my hand back reflexively but his grip is firm, he pulls a thick marker from his shirt pocket and proceeds to write a numeric sequence onto the flesh of the back of my hand.

“My name is Darko, you’ll call me if you do see this man, yes?”  He tucks the photo back into his pocket and the marker follows soon after before a loud honk sounds and I turn from him and look down the street.

“Go on now, curajos mici, before the night swallows you up.” He releases my hand and I glance back at his retreating form before I race down the sidewalk, remove my case and slide it, and myself, into the back seat of the cab.

I ramble off the address to my uncle’-  or is it Gabi’s?-  house and lean my head against the window before I let my eyes slide closed.      

 

When the taxi slows to a stop outside of the house, I glance at the meter on the dash before I climb from the back seat and set my case onto the steps. I pull my wallet out and offer the man a twenty before and tell him to keep the change.

I dig the key ring that Uncle Victor gave to me from the depths of my purse and look for the flowered key for the front door. I laugh to myself at the effort put into the keys on the ring, flowers for the front door, a backpack design on the key to the back door, a scoop of gelato on the gate key. Even though my Uncle did not know exactly how I am, or that I would have had no problem categorizing the keys without the markings, he had made the effort to make my transition as smooth as he could.

I’m not sad, per se, that he’s gone. It would be illogical for me to be sad, I barely knew the man after all. I do regret not knowing him though and I will cherish the small amount of time that I had with him. I slide the proper key into the lock and turn it to the right, the click sounds and I slowly open the door. I slip my boots off and set the heavy leather beside the bottom of the door to keep it propped open while I retrieve my case. I step inside and attempt to, quietly, shut the door behind myself.

I pick up my footwear before I slowly make my way across the foyer. My sock clad feet pad across the thick rug silently before I stat up the stairs. I remember the layout of the house as I make my way to the third door on left.

The door to the room is open so I walk in.  I spot my suitcases and trunk sitting near the mattress that had been stripped bare in preparation of my arrival. A light in the on suite bathroom is on and emitting a small, soft, glow on the dark colored wood floor.

I set my case on the bed and drop my footwear onto the rug on the floor beside the bedframe before I close and lock the door to the room. I locate one of my smaller suitcases, the one housing my toiletries, and remove the small bag containing my bathing essentials and set it onto the mattress. I crawl over to my next target; one of the larger suitcases that has my nightwear in it, before I remove a night set and lay it beside the plastic bag on the mattress.

I open my trunk next, and pull the vacuum-sealed bag that contains my one of my comforters, my fleece blanket, my pillows and pillowcases, a mattress pad and sheets along with a few plushies.

I stand, lay the heavy bag onto the bed, and pick up my clothes and toiletry bag. I and flip the light switch on, deposit the items onto the bathroom counter, and turn on the shower to warm up before I make my way back to the bed and rip the two seams of the vacuum-sealed bag apart and remove my bed set. I pause for a moment and inhale the sent on my home before I start to make the bed.

When I am content with the state that the bed is in, I move back to the trunk and place the bag back inside before closing the lid. I move over to the windows and pull the floor length curtains back to reveal a sliding glass door, and a screen door behind it, that leads out onto a skinny balcony.

I slide the glass door open and allow the breeze to flow through the room. The tepid air send a shiver down my spine and I turn back towards the center of the room.

I dig through the small bag again and retrieve one of my towels before I make my way towards that bathroom to take a shower.

I strip out of my sweater and oversized shirt before I slide my panties off of my hips and step into the shower.

That water is hot as it rains down onto my back, wetting my long hair and dribbling down the backs of my legs. I tilt my head back and smooth my hands over my face before I curl them around my chest.

I inhale the steam-thickened air into my lungs and close my eyes against the harsh lighting of the small room. The breeze from the screen door slips through the partially closed door of the bathroom and twists over the shower door, refreshing my overheated skin.

I wash my body and hair before leaving a conditioning treatment in my hair, to ensure that my curls will remain curly as I sleep instead of frizzing out in an uncomfortable way, and shave the slight growth of hair off of my legs and underarms before I rinse my hair free of the thick cream.

I step out of the shower, wrap my towel around my body, and move to stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth.  When I’m through I rinse my mouth and pat my face dry with the corner of  my towel before I apply moisturizer and remove my towel to apply lotion to the rest of my skin.

My hands reach my hips and I glance down as they brush against tender flesh. I spot four elongated marks, spaced closely together, that seem to curl around my side. My eyebrows furrow as I recall how my skin became marred, these memories bring a dull ache to the space between my hips.

I pat my hair dry quickly, slip into my pajama set, pick up the dirty clothes off the floor and make my way back into the bedroom. I drop my clothes onto the floor, push Nigel’s shirt under the pillow on the right side of the bed and climb under my layers of blankets. 

The lovely spiced scent from the shirt drift into my mind as I doze and I decide to find a way to return the shirt to him that doesn’t involve showing up at his door.

Eventually, when the scent fades.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

When I woke up this morning I had, for the briefest of moments, thought that I was still in Nigel’s apartment. His sent had filled my lungs and made my mind wonder. The sounds of the city below my window roused me from my warm, safe place and I look at the clock on the bedside table it reads 5:45. I get up and stretch my muscles to prepare my body for the day.

After I dressed for the day, brushed my hair and teeth, and made my bed. I left the bedroom and made my way down the stairs.

I couldn’t hear any movement when I got downstairs so I walked through the bottom floor of the house looking into the rooms for any people.  When I get to the kitchen, I see a folded piece of paper on the counter with my name on it.

I pick up the paper, unfold it, and begin to read.

_Adam, I’m throwing a memorial party tonight at seven to honor my father, please be back by then if you go out. I will be back around six, Gabi_

I refold the note and set in back onto the counter. Where did she think I would go? Was she mad that I hadn’t returned her calls or text messages? I bite my lip and glance around the kitchen.

The room is filled with sunlight and clutter. I consider cleaning but decide against it, I wouldn’t want someone rearranging my house.

My house. I miss Manhattan. I miss my old job. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I miss Harlan, and Beth. Beth, I need to call her, to check on her father, to see how her mother is doing. I need to call Harlan and ask him about my house. I wish he and Beth could have come with me, but I’m not that naive.

I rush back through the house and up the stairs before I grab my purse and dig my phone and charger out.  I look around the room for an outlet and  plug my charger into the outlet and my phone into the charger.

The screen illuminates and an empty battery pops onto the screen. I place my phone down on the floor and start to unpack while it charges. I pull my projector out of my trunk and set it up on the desk near the window.  I find places for all on my belongings and arrange, then re arrange them until I am as satisfied as I can be in this new environment.

By the time all of my belongings have been dispersed to my liking its 7:30 am. I walk over and check my phone’s battery before I hold down the power button and wait for it to power up.

My stomach emits a growl, I wonder if I am allowed to eat the food here, or if there’s anything I will ear there. I recall uncle Victor telling me that this was my home now, but he’s dead and the rules might have changed.

My phone makes the telltale noise that indicated it has powered on and I unlock the screen before scrolling through my contacts and select the image of myself and Harlan that we both use for the other’s contact icon.

I press the call icon and hold the phone up to my ear as I wait for the call to go through. I get his voice mail and realize that he’s probably working so I leave a message for him. I’ve never been good at social interactions and it’s even more difficult to pretend to be talking to someone when leaving a voicemail.

I call Beth next, the phone rings three times before she picks up.

“Hi, Adam! How are you? Are you settling in all right, I’m sure you are, your uncle was so nice while he was here! Taking you to see the Cubbies and buying you your luggage!” I rest my back against the wall and slide down into a seated position.

“Hello, Beth. I’m fine. Thank you.” I have to remember to add thank you, ”How are you? I’m hungry but physically fine other than that.  Actually, my uncle died a few hours from Bucharest so he hasn’t been helping me adjust. But I agree that he was a nice man.”

“Oh Adam.” The line is silent for a moment and I hear her sniffle. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, everyone dies, Beth.” I try to comfort her. “How is your father doing in prison?”

“Oh. Well, he’s doing as well as he can, I suppose. I mean, it is prison, Adam.”

I scold myself for yet another social fumble. “Right, of course. And h-how is  your book coming along? Will you tell me what it’s about now?”

“No Adam! You’ll have to wait!” Her voice is higher in pitch now; I let out a relived sigh.

We talk for a while longer before she tells me that she’s meeting with her mom in an hour and has to go.

We exchange goodbyes and I end the call on my end.  Beth had told me once that she liked to stay on the phone after the other person had hung up and soak in the silence, but I’ve never understood why. 

I often feel like there are sentimental things that I don’t understand. When people talk to someone that’s in a coma because they think that they can hear them when they physically can’t, crying over gifts, and hugging. I’ve never been fond of hugging.

My father’s arms often felt like restraints wrapped around my body instead of offering the comforting feelings they are supposed to bring.

When I was younger, I used to lie under the surface of the bath water and stare up at the ceiling. My father found me like that once and hugged me for a long time after he had pulled me from the tub. When he had asked me why I was doing it, I had told him the truth like I was supposed to. The world is quieter underwater, everything slows down and becomes so much more clearer.

When I was a small child, my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, had told my class that we could be anything we wanted to be.

I had taken that quite literally and had tried to sew my legs together when I had gotten home that day. My mother had come into the bathroom and started to scream when she saw me on the bathroom floor holding the threaded needle, my legs dribbling blood from where I had ripped the stiches out with my movements.

I finger the small scars on my thighs as I recall the event. I find it almost amusing that one of my only memories of my mother is of when she had screamed at me, almost.

I sigh and stand before I unplug my phone and slide it into the pocket of my sweater after checking the time.

With hours left to go until six I decide to familiarize myself with the kitchen before I search for something to wear.  

I open all of the cupboard doors and drawers in the kitchen and take inventory of the placement of all of the items. I pull a box of cereal out from the third cupboard from the window and inspect the ingredients.

Much to my delight, this particular brand of cereal contains all of the same ingredients as All-Bran, the only difference between the two is this one adds honey and comes in small clusters instead of the pressed flakes that I am used to.

I grab a small zip sealed bag and pout about a cup of the cereal into the plastic receptacle before returning the bod back to its assigned place and padding down the hall and into a small den like room.

A few bookcases are scattered around the room, along with a matching desk and entertainment center. I turn the television on and sink to the floor before flipping through the channels and settling on a football game.

The reception quality and language barrier makes it very difficult to decipher what is happening and I lose interest in the game. I surf the channels once more before coming full circle and stopping.

I munch a handful of the dry cereal and adjust my stockings. My eyes drift around the room and settle on a shelf of VHS tapes. I emit a laugh like sound at the thought of how different my world is now. Where I was once surrounded by microchips and projected stars I now have VHS tapes.

I get up and brows the hand written labels on the tapes before I pluck a few from the shelf and make as to resume my place in front of the television. My eye catches a tape that I had skipped over, which is an oddity in its own; the label reads Cubbies Win World Series- 1995.

I pull the tape from its place on the shelf; my eyebrows furrowed, and turn the tape over in my free hand repeatedly.

This tape it wrong. I distinctly recall the conversation Uncle Victor and I had on the way to the airport about his illogical faith in the Cubs and their chances of winning any future games based on their previous history.

I tuck the under my arm and push the tape on the top of my stack into the VCR.  I press the input button on the television until the proper screen is displayed and lean back to watch.

It’s a home movie of my father and Uncle Victor when they were younger, accompanied by some unknown relatives and various other people. I go through tape after tape, absorbing as much as I can before I notice that the sun is coming through the window at a different angle.

I stop the current tape and shut the television off before standing and stretching. I gather the watched tapes and return them to their places on the shelf before retrieving the Cubbies tape from where it had fallen from my grasp and onto the floor before I return to my room and pull a blue dress out and slide the plastic covering off and lay it out on the bed.

I find my curling iron and makeup bag before retreating to the bathroom to ready myself for tonight.

I go through the motions of cleansing and prepping my skin before I settle on a tinted moisturizer and minimal makeup. Beth had been insistent on my learning how to properly apply various cosmetics, skin and hair care products.

I pull the sides of my hair back and pin the locks of hair back away from my face before I begin the tedious task of curling each section of hair into a perfect spiral. I mist my hair with a spray that is supposed to offer ‘Maximum hold’ and wipe the residue from my skin.

Back in the bedroom, I undress and begin redressing in the semi-formal fashion I have chosen for tonight. The silky slip slides against my skin in a pleasurable way and I soak the feeling in for a moment before I pull on a pair of thigh highs and finally, the dress.

The dark blue fabric billows as I move it through the air and hold it up against my body in examination. I pull the dress over my head and sweep my stiff hair over my shoulder before I pull the zipper up and tie the ties into a bow in the middle of my lower back.

I choose to forgo shoes, as I am not expecting to step outside of the house tonight.

The day is growing chilly and I give into temptation and pull Nigel’s shirt out from under my pillow before I slip it on and tuck my hands into the cuffs.

I am immediately hit with the strong scent that lingers in the soft cotton; I hum in contentment and lift the collar up around my neck.

I hear the door downstairs open and slam shut before a heavy footfalls echo up the stairs and into my room.

This day is far from over.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, MORE NIGEL!!!!! I can't wait!


	6. Bounty to Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all... Hi!  
> I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get everything back into working order. I've been writing bits on my phone but it's pretty hard to get my brain going without my Word program leering at me from my desktop.
> 
> I would also like to do a little shout out to all of my readers, I realize that the TNDOCC fandom isn't small, per se, but Nigel/GIrlAdam is, as far as I know, kind of nonexistent. SO I would just like to say thank you to my little cult following and that I loves you all for sticking with me.
> 
> Also, all of my chapter titles are either song titles or lyrics, and, as per request, I will be building a playlist of my inspiration tunes that will be updated with this story. 
> 
> And now, sit back and enjoy my un-betad story of whatever-ness! Please enjoy!

Chapter six: Bounty to Kin

I glance at the clock on the nightstand and frown, it’s barely eleven o’clock. The echoing pounds of shoes on the wood floors below have me flustered. I doubt Gabi could make such a ruckus.  

I slowly make my way across the floor and down the carpeted steps before coming to a halt at the landing. Whoever is in the house is currently rummaging through the den.  I think for a moment, on what would be the best course of action, my thoughts bouncing between calling the authorities and leaving the house, before I decide to stop thinking such nonsense. Both of those options would not be ideal, my lack of the native language and lay of the land would, no doubt, have me in much more trouble than I could possibly be in now.  

I steel myself and slowly, cautiously, make my way to the doorway of the den before I move to stand against the doorjamb.  The well-dressed man, who is obviously not Gabi, is rummaging through the shelves of VHS tapes without really disturbing the placement or order. I watch for a few moments as the man works his way through the lower shelves, before he stands and turns his head slightly to take in the rest of the shelves.

I recognize this man instantly, his sharp features are the same, even with the improved lighting of the sun filled room.

“Does Gabi know that you are here, Mister Darko?” I say lowly as I cross my arms, attempting to give off a nonchalant look to my appearance and not reveal the whirling thoughts in my mind.

Darko whips around quickly in surprise at my voice, his arm working its way into his suit jacket before he pills a pistol out and points it at me. Obviously, he thought he was going to be alone in the house, which meant he knew Gabi’s schedule. Yet, here I am, staring down the barrel of a gun and still calmer than I would have been if I were looking into his eyes, the overlooked factor in his snoopy little plans. I grin at my own thoughts and some of the tension leaves darko’s tense frame as his face lightens up with recognition and some unknown glee. His own wicked grin sliding onto his face as if I was the one that had been caught somewhere where I was not supposed to be before he lowers the gun.

“No, I suppose not, and I intend it to stay that way. Does Nigel know that YOU are here, little girl?” 

His words confuse me. “If I were in your position, I would be more worried about the person breaking the law, you, more than I would be worried about the person who had simply been misplaced.”

His grin widens and he makes his way towards me, moving like the predator that I instinctually know him to be. It’s not as though he and Nigel were simply racket ball partners or something as equally mundane.

He’s within my personal space now, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him while keeping my eyes focused in between his eyebrows. I feel like a dangling mouse and he’s the snake coiled below.  He reaches his hand up and I flinch at the thought of physical contact at this moment, his hand hovers over my shoulder for a moment before he hooks his fingers into a curl and pulls it forward.

“That, is where you are wrong, little dove.” He leans in, his arm is trapping me against the doorjamb as he slouches slightly to bring his face level with mine, “If you were me, you would have killed me by now. What you should ask yourself, is why I haven’t shot you between the pretty little eyes yet.” Something hard and cold taps against my thigh twice before I hear the telltale click of the safety being taken off. I try to muster up the proper feelings for this situation, but I am left in a state of curiosity.  darko pressed the barrel of the gun against my hip and drags it up my side and under Nigel’s shirt, before coming to a stop under my chin. The squared end of the gun is firmly pressed into the soft meat of my neck as the chill of the metal sinks into my skin.

“You were looking for something, Mister Dako, a video tape perhaps? Tell me, did you find what you were looking for?” I ask using the small amount of information I have to string to together a sentence that implies that I know much more than I actually do. Harlan’s words ring through my mind, we’re all liars, after all.

Darko’s eyes narrow into slits a second before he applies more pressure to the gun. I think idly on the fact that I don’t have to work to control my facial features or heart rate like non aspies would in this kind of situation. 

“What do you know about the tape?” Darko hisses at me, a fleck of saliva lands on my cheek and quickly wipe it off before I press my hand against Darko’s chest.  
“If you shoot me you’ll never find out.” I point out mater of factly, “And unless you want to be caught with your gun pressed up under my chin, I suggest you leave sooner rather than later. Gabi will be back soon, as I’m sure you know, and with her comes a crowd.” I keep my eyes locked to his forehead and speak steadily, not allowing my voice to soften in the quiet room.

As if on cue, the sound of keys scraping against the lock on the front door causes Darko to start and glance at his watch, Gabi is early, which surprises me just as much as it does Darko but I don’t allow that to show.

Darko presses the gun up again and I swallow reflexively as he leans his head down, his mouth beside my ear.  “This conversation isn’t over, little girl. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He growls before he straightens himself, slides his gun back into his coat pocket and makes his way down the hall towards the doors that lead into the garden.

I inhale deeply and allow myself a moment of victory before the sound of the thick wooden door being pushed opens and the tiny clink of heels reverberates off the walls.

“What are you doing?” Gabi asks as she comes around the corner. “What are you wearing, where did you get that shirt?”  I tug at the sleeves of the shirt in question and stand up straight before I move away from the doorway.  
“I was just admiring the den.” I say, before I slip the shirt over my shoulders and ball it up tightly in my hands, “I got this shirt from my room, if you must know, I got a chill.”

Gabi makes a scoffing noise before she crosses her arms and thrusts her dominant leg hip out. “Sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re just stupid or not.”  Her face is open and she doesn’t look like she meant the words she spoke to wound. I shrug my shoulders and tuck Nigel’s shirt under my left arm.

She sighs and glances at the grandfather clock beside across from the den before looking back towards me, “Would you be willing to help me in the kitchen?” She asks. I nod slowly before I pull the shirt out from under my arm and wave it around for a moment, “Yes, that would be fine. I’ll just be a minute of two, I should put this back upstairs?” My words come out like a question and Gabi nods before turning from me and making her way into the kitchen. I stay rooted in my spot for a moment as I consider telling Gabi about Darko and as I cannot calculate an outcome that has a positive outcome, I decide against it.

I turn and make my way up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Moisture clings uncomfortably to my skin as I stand on the patio staring up into the vastness of space. The hues of orange and pink that creep into the sky with the coming night are captivating in their own way but they do not hold my interest. My eyes scan over they bare space in between clouds searching for a gimps of starlight before I am forced back inside to partake in the festivities, I look down at my tumbler of amber liquid and swirl my hand, causing the a small cyclone to happen within the confines of the glass. There was no use telling whoever had given me the drink that I didn’t consume alcohol, all I had received for my efforts was a laugh and a ‘double shot’ of whatever was curling around in my glass.  The people attending this get together were quick to accept my presence after I had joined Miguel inside to play a ‘farewell’ song commemorating uncle Victor’s ‘long and happy’ life, however. The phrase confuses me; to assume that someone’s life was happy is foolish. People have a habit of judging one’s emotions by the facial expressions, which is ridiculous.

I don’t always smile when something pleases me. In fact, it is not often that my exterior genuinely mirrors what is happening beneath my skin. I rarely or cry when I’m sad which, according to the previous theory means that I am never sad.  When my friendship with Beth was still new, I would mirror her expressions so as to blend more easily into her life. I was filled with an odd craving for a hallowed out place to fit into after my father’s death.  I had wanted to be accepted by her friends and welcomed to attend their parties even thought I knew they would not hold my interests.

I look down and huff out a mockery of a laugh at my own stupidity.

A bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face and along the line of my clavicle, the humidity makes the gauzy material of my dress cling to my legs and irritates the healing skin hidden within my hairline. The weather here is unpredictable; I am not fond of the climate or this garden.

The overgrown vegetation seems to smother anything that it touches and the algae filled pond looks like it could have been home to beautiful coy fish when it was new and more habitable.

I seat myself heavily upon an upraised chunk of concrete that had once been the platform for some kind of statue and fold in on myself until my forehead is resting on my knees. I drop the tumbler from my fingers and watch as the smoky liquid sank in between the blades of grass and through the layers of earth.

A slow and solemn song filled with even chords and smooth lyrics drifts out of the opened doors and settles like a fog in the walled off garden as the sound of dress shoes on worn wooden planks approaching the property touches my ears.

I look  up to see Bela making his way down the paneled path he stops  to converse with two people that are standing by the doors. As I am seated out of the way, he does not see me as he exchanges Romanian dialogue with the couple. Unfortunately for Bela he does not see Nigel as he makes his way down the path with much more grace than his massive frame should be able to manage until he is making his way past Bela.

“You sir!” Bela shouts as he notices whom the man that is making his down the path is and moves to stand in front of him, “You cannot be here!” Bela finishes loudly. Nigel leans in and says something to Bela in Romanian before he slams his head into Bela’s. He falls back heavily and clutches his nose as Nigel crouches over him and grabs him by his collar, bringing him up to continue his slew of Romanian.

Nigel glances up and drops Bela, “Charlie, “I look over but cannot see inside the doors, “Have you seen Gabi of late?” Nigel asks as he makes his way inside, brushing his hands on his pants as he goes.

I lower my head as an unfamiliar feeling twists through my body, of course he would be looking for Gabi, she is his wife after all. I curl my toes into the grass as the sound of shattering glass echoes into the garden, I stand and cautiously make my way inside the doors before I press my back against the wall beside one of the windows.

Nigel is looming over Charlie, who is pressed against the wall, and pressing a broken wineglass to his neck. This makes me think of how alike Nigel and Darko are with their choice of where to press threatening objects.

“Isn’t that right, Gabi?” Nigel shouts as he looks up. Gabi’s fingers curl around my arm before she pulls me back and releases me into the main room. I stumble over the rug and fall onto the floor, my elbows hit the wood first and I cry out as I feel the skin split with the force.

“You were meant to ring me, Darling.” Nigel says as I turn and prop myself up on my good arm. Two unfamiliar hands grip my under my arms and pull me to my feet, I look over my shoulder to see that Miguel is the one who had assisted me and I give him a small, forced smile before I look back towards the commotion. Nigel’s eyes are narrowed and on me as I glance at him, I look away.

“You need to leave Nigel, now.” Gabi says as she levels the gun in her hand at him.

“The ass of an angel the brain of a man, the aim of Annie Oakley?” Nigel says with a small grin before he leans back in towards Charlie, ”Ever the total package, my Gabi is.” He twirls the stem of the wineglass between his hands for a moment before he start s again. ”Let's say I give you 'til tomorrow to seek me out but that's the best I can do. Agreed?” Nigel asks. Something soft is pressed to my arm, I hiss and jump forward as I look to see that Miguel is holding a bloodied handkerchief out to me. I wave him off and wrap my fingers around my arm instead.

A gunshot sounds and I abandon my wound as I cup my ears, smearing blood along my face in the process. Nigel is looking at Gabi with an odd expression when he turns back from looking at the hole somewhere behind him. “Guess I'm off then, Charlie.” He says as he places the wineglass down on the dresser beside Charlie, “But we'll get a funny face out of you yet, right?”

Nigel stares down Gabi as he makes his way out of the house and down the path. I uncurl my hands form my ears and just stand there for a moment before the blood working its way down my arm sends me walking briskly into the kitchen to wipe the mess away.

 

* * *

 

 

My hands have pruned from my washing all of the glasses and small plates from the party, I rinse the sink with small splashes of water that I first cup in my hands before I rinse the soap from my skin. I can hear Bela and Gabi talking in the adjacent room as I pull a small towel from the stove handle and proceed to dry the dishes that would not fit on the rack. I nearly drop the small flowered plate as the door is slammed loudly. I place the dishes in a stack on the counter before I return the towel to its place and move into the hall to go upstairs and wash the sweat and blood from my skin.

“Nigel leave.” I pause as I hear the end of Gabi’s sentence before I start up the stairs.

“How?” Charlie asks.

“There is some kind of tape,” I pause again and turn back towards the landing of the stairs. “of Nigel doing something and my father used it to make Nigel leave Bucharest.” Gabi finishes lowly.

“This is the unfinished business. With my father gone, Nigel and Darko want to find the tape.” I stand and make my way back up the stars, thinking about my encounter with Darko earlier today.  So that is why he was here, I wasn’t so far off after all. I enter my room, close and lock the door, my eyes going to the inaccurate video tape resting innocently on the foot of my bed. I go over to the closet and pull the door open before I look up to see the small television/ VCR player that looks old enough to be black and white that I had seen as I was putting my things away. I reach up, yank the heavy thing down from the shelf, and struggle to regain my footing for a moment after the shift in my balance.

I set it onto the floor beside a free outlet and plug it in before turning all of the knobs to try to get it to turn on, after I succeed it takes me a few moments to navigate the ancient piece of technology before VCR appears on the screen. I stand and retrieve the tape before I sit back down on the floor.

I hold the tape in my hand for a long time before I make the decision to actually watch it. I push the tape into the slit on the base of the television, my finger hovers over the play button before I jab it forcefully and the screen flickers to the image of what  looks like a restaurant, Nigel and Darko stand beside two the people that are seated at the table. Nigel pats the man that he is standing beside on the back before he turns from him, pulls a gun from his jacket, and shoots the man in the head. I jump and the sound and quickly turn the volume knob until no sound comes out of the speakers, while on the screen both Nigel and Darko proceed to shoot the remaining members of the dinner party. Darko grabs something from off of the table and takes a bite of it before they both walk off screen.

 I stare blankly at the television for a moment before I press the button to eject the tape and stand, I grab one of my scarves and wrap the tape tightly before I move to my Cello case and remove all of its contents. I pry at the lining until it releases and shove the tape into the barley large enough space beneath the soft fabric and stiffened form before I shove it back into place and return my instrument and accessories. I shut the case and back away from it, looking at it with new eyes as it now holds much more than sheet music and bowstrings.

I shove the televising back into the closet and shut the door before I seat myself heavily onto the bed and stare at the dark case across the room.


	7. Playlists for my pretties!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here are the songs that have inspired me. Enjoy

[Secret Chord chapter titles](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ2IiFol5nRTyWhCHI-ADHEahfWo7Js7B)

[All the songs in between!](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ2IiFol5nRSRSPJofK8zS8zCvZKeF2Sd)


	8. Part one: Holocene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chamomile Lemon Green Tea and Romanian all-bran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I just get carried away and.. ugh! Anyways, this is part one. I hope you enjoy, I'm off to shower now. 
> 
> Oh, and fun fact, Nigel doesn't wear his wedding ring like Gabi does....Just throwing that out there. 
> 
> But, yeah, NOT BETA READ! Just sayin'.

I had lain awake in my bed, curled between my star speckled sheets, until the noises of the other occupants had finally quieted and the illuminated numbers on my clock read 4:16. My eyes rarely strayed from my cello case.

After I had place the tape into the lining of the case I had sat on the bed for a long time, my hands shaking and clammy from the overload of emotions, before I had forced myself to shower. In the bathroom, I had stared at myself in the mirror as if my head would open up and reveal what I should do.

I couldn’t tell Gabi, that much was clear to me, she would tell Charlie and he would, undoubtedly do something reckless that would get everyone involved hurt. If I keep the tape, Nigel and Darko will still be looking for it, which would put Gabi and me in even more danger than we’re already in.

I shake my head and slide out from under the covers. I can’t stay here, not with Darko having access. This house seems to be a mecca for violence and lies. My fingers brush over the scab on my arm and I frown. Good intentions or not, Gabi should not have grabbed me like that, in all honesty she should not have touched me at all.  

I walk over to the window and push it open. Staring out at the low-lit streets, I decide that I can’t stay here. I want to go back home, but I know that I can’t. I wish that I could talk to Beth about this, but she would just tell me to go to the police and trying to explain to her that the police here are not like the police that she’s romanticized in her mind, they aren’t freedom fighters.

I look out over the railing and down the side of the house, taking not of the footholds and missing chunks of stone.  With my mind made up, I turn back to the center of the room and retrieve my large backpack and soft carrying case for my Telescope I spend the next half hour neatly packing the things I know I can’t live without, preparing for the worst. I set out a comfortable pair of clothes that cover all of my limbs for the climb down the side of the house. I dig through my discarded clothes form the party and pull my phone out of the pile.

I press the button to turn the screen on and see that I have a missed call from Harlan I tap his icon and my thumb hovers over the call icon for a few moments before I decide against calling him back at this moment.

I turn to the clothes I had left out and decide to forgo the undershirt and bra; I slide my soft, white, zip up sweater over my shoulders and take a moment to enjoy the feel of the warm fabric against the flesh of my chest. Before Beth, I hardly wore bras, I felt no need because of my almost nonexistent bosom, but upon her insistence, I started ritualistically wearing the uncomfortable undergarment. I pull on the soft, but sturdy, black pants and shrug on my too-large hoodie before fastening my boots to my feet. I unlock my trunk that houses my pulley gear and select a length of rope before closing the lid and pushing it up against the door.  It’s best to go out the window; it will take them longer to realize that I’ve gone this way.

Lastly, I open my Cello case and retrieve the VHS, retrieve my telescope and small repair case before I make myself comfortable on the floor and disassemble the VHS tape with the small screwdriver from the repair case.  I pop the dust cap off of my Telescope and split the two pieces apart, the small compartment left in the cylinder that houses a rather large cleaning cloth and a small bottle of lens cleaner. I remove the lens cleaner and wrap the spool of tape gently in the large, sort, cloth before folding it and settling it into the empty compartment.  I return the screwdriver to the case, pull a thin strip of metal, that is used in cleaning the stand, out, and slide it into the pocket of my hoodie before placing the repair case into my backpack.

I fit the two pieces together, reassemble the tape, and return the dust cap to the scope before I quietly make my way down the stairs and return the, now empty, tape to the shelf. I spend a few minutes making sure that the tape looks undisturbed within the rows of dusty tapes before returning to the bedroom and flicking the lock. If this were a more modernized house I could have just locked the door and shut it from the outside, but this lock can only be secured from this side of the door.

I close my cello case and slide it under the bed before I secure my telescope in the soft case and slide it, and my backpack, over my shoulder. I loop the rope over a sturdy drainage pipe beside the window before I tie one side around my waist and wrap the other around my arm. I climb over the windowsill and steady my feet on a small indentation in the side of the house before I pull the two sides of the window close and use the flat metal too to flick the tiny window hitch down, locking the two pieces together.  

I start down the wall, careful to distribute the extra weight on my back properly, and slowly slacken the rope wrapped around my arm as I go. I remember scaling the side of my apartment in Manhattan to clean Beth’s windows a few days after she had moved in, she had been right, she could see the stars after all of the muck was cleared away.

When my feet touch the ground I allow myself a moment of victory at my lack of injuries before I untie the rope from my waist and pull it down while winding it around my arm in a series of smooth loops. I slide my backpack over one shoulder and shove the rope into it before returning it to my back.

Careful of the vegetation, I make my way through what was once a flowerbed and onto the sidewalk. I remember a small café that I passed in the cab on my way from Nigel’s apartment as I start my trek down the lowly illuminated street. I allow my mind to wonder as my feet continue on their path. My thoughts drift to the wound film that is safely tucked into my telescope cap, I had known that both Nigel and Darko were not the kind of people that you should irritate, but I had never imagined that they were capable of what I had seen on the tape. But, then again, I suppose that I can blame that on my mind blindness. It wasn’t in my bubble at the time, so why should it exist? I cross my arms, quicken my pace and pull the hood of my sweater up over my head while tucking my fingers into my sleeves thought of it all. The weather here is ridiculous.

I pull my phone out and check the time, 5:28. This time of year, the sun usually rises around 6:04 a.m so I know I have at least three hours until Gabi and Charlie will start to wake up. As I get closer to the street that the café is on I can hear the bass heavy music growing louder and louder. I imagine the stones beneath my feet vibrating with the beat of the music as my boots land on them. 

The street  outside Amélie's is abuzz with music and muffled conversations of natives, most of them looking between the age of 19 and 31, they all have something in common though, nothing obvious to the eye, they just all look like they belong in this patchwork French bakery.

I make my way to the counter and wait in line as I examine the words that are scrawled over the blackboards behind the display cases. There is a small portion of the board that is filled with messily written English, so I make my selection form there. After a few minutes of waiting and five dollars and eighty two cents later, I am in possession of a very large cup of Chamomile Lemon Green Tea, with an unhealthy amount of sugar and no milk, and an all-bran muffin that has some kind of glaze on it.

I make my way outside and seat myself at one of the smaller iron tables before I slip the hoodie off of my shoulders and use it to cover my backpack and soft case that I’ve placed beside my leg, the straps looped around my calf. I bring the cup up to my mouth and inhale the steam, my upper lip immediately perspiring as the haze curls into my mouth. I lick my lips before I tilt the cup and allow the now set of flavors to invade my senses. The chamomile is comforting, a welcomed familiarity that is drowned out by lemon almost instantly. I like this tea, I decide before I place the cup down and peel the wrapper from the muffin. I pull a piece from the bottom off and plop it into my mouth, my stomach twisting uncomfortable in anticipation. I taste molasses and fresh grain flour, flecks of fennel seed, that are unexpected but entirely welcome, burst as my teeth nosh the pips with vigor, before a coil of lemon zest makes its way between my molars.

When the muffin is gone and the tea has cooled significantly I pull my backpack on backwards and hunch over it, my sweaters hood pulled closely around my face as I rest my chin on my folded arms. Rays of bright sunlight filter through the cracks between the buildings, playing catch with the streetlamps as my eyelids grow heavy under the warmth of my sweater.  

The first thing I notice, is that my legs are cramping from their position and the stiffness of the chair beneath me, the second is the small puddle of saliva that has seeped from my mouth, through the thickness of my sweater, and made a home on the skin of my arm. The third thing I notice, and this is the most important, is the high-pitched voice echoing my name, my body freezes. But, before I can lift my head from the protection of my hood, the voice continues.

“She’s run off again, and if she’s not with you this time where is she?” Gabi’s voices rings. “Not that I believe you.”

“As enticing as the topic of young Adam’s whereabouts is, my dear, I’m afraid that it is not what I am here to speak with you about. Come now, Gabi, do you expect me to believe that you know nothing of the tape in which I am talking about?” Nigel’s deep voice rolls across my eardrums in one smooth stroke.

“I have no fucking idea what you are talking about, Nigel. Now, if we are finished here, I have something that I need to attend to.” Gabi replies, her voice starting harsh and ending smug.

“Now, Gabi, don’t you mean some _one_?” Nigel’s tone betrays nothing as it oozes indifference.

The sound of chairs scraping and heels on stone retreating echoes through the ally and I allow my body to relax as my lungs expand fully for the first time in a few moments. It’s not until I can feel a presence at my side that I start to raise my head, but, before I can accomplish my movement, a large hand finds its way to the back of my neck. I tense as the heat form the hand seeps through my sweater and onto my skin. The pressure increases and another hand lands on my thigh, I turn my head to towards the warmth and my eyes meet Nigel’s. He’s crouched beside the chair that I am seated in, pinning me with his hands.

“Now, I’m not usually the kind of man that would be entirely unhappy if the woman I fell asleep next to was gone in the morning, in fact I prefer it. So tell me, little girl, why it is that when I awoke yesterday morning to an empty place beside me I found myself filled with anger.” Nigel asks, his cool voice, once again, betraying nothing.  His eyes, on the other hand, are darkened with some string emotion.

I lick my lips and force my throat to swallow before I part my lips, preparing to answer.

“I-I can’t tell you that.” I start softly, “that would require so many unknown variables, and even if I had all of the information a normal person would need I’m sure I would still need some more, so really, it would take such a long time to answer your question that you, most likely, would have forgotten that you had even asked it.” I stutter out quickly.

Nigel huffs and pulls me up from my chair, my leg getting tangled further in the straps my backpack, causing me to stumble and fall into him, as my cup spills over on the table. I clench my hands in the fabric of Nigel’s shirt as I lift my leg out of the strap and then, after releasing one hand, bending to pull both the strap of my backpack and my case over my shoulder. I notice, albeit a bit too soon, that the sipper of my sweater has slid down a few inches, assumingly caught in the grate-like surface of the table as I slept, exposing my breastbone, and that my small breasts are pressed against Nigel’s forearm. I take in an unsteady breath, a mistake, and feel my pebbling nipples brush, not only against my buttery sweater, but against the natural heat that radiates off of Nigel’s body.

I look up at him from under my hood, his upper lip flares out into a sneer-ish pose for a moment before he clamps it between his teeth. In a flurry of movements, he’s re-zipped my zipper and is pulling me from the sidewalk and pushing me into the front seat of a sleek looking car. He uses his foot to move my legs into the car and slams the door. The defining silence of the cab of the car makes my rapid breaths sound like they are being amplified through the speakers.   I take a few breaths to calm myself and cross my arms, trying to quell my shaking body, and shut my eyes.

Should I run? The door is unlocked. But I don’t really know where I am and I’m almost positive that Nigel would catch me. What if he finds the tape? Albeit unlikely, it could happen yet.

My thoughts are cut short by the driver’s side door opening, Nigel placing himself into the seat, and the door shutting loudly behind him. After a second of silence, keys jingle and the engine turns over, gears are shifted and the car starts to move.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amélie's is an awesome little French bakery "Chain" the one I'm basing this off of is the one I've been to in NoDa Arts District, Charlotte, NC.


	9. Part two: I see fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's long and I'm pretty unsure about it, but, here it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in one go, and I'm tired now! 
> 
> THIS IS NOT BETA READ, but feel free to point out any mistakes, I do apologize for them in advanced. 
> 
> So....Sex....Yeah, that happens.
> 
> [Chapter playlist!!!](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ2IiFol5nRSCtqsBuGkuFONVEFXg9EpP)
> 
> Guess what song I listened to on repeat for the sex scene and I'll give you a sneaky peaky of the next chapter.

The steel cuff that is fastened around my wrist digs into the soft skin hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to break through and draw blood. I press my hands against my ears harder as I squeeze my eyes tighter, the pulsing lights and music have me feeling as if my whole being breaks apart and reassembles itself, splashing the walls with my blood and spilling my thoughts into the sky in time with the beat. My bladder is uncomfortably full and I need to find a way out of this room.

After Nigel had gotten into the car, we had driven deeper into the city where, even at 10 in the morning, the nightlife is still going as strongly as it would in the middle of the night. After parked, Nigel had pulled me from the car and into the club. A scantily clad woman, who Nigel ignored as he proceeded to drag me deeper into the depths of the building, greeted us as we entered.

When we’d reached a hallway with mirrors covering the walls Nigel had yanked open a door and tugged me inside. The room was slightly quieter than the club was, but somehow managed to be just as intolerable with walls that looked soft to the touch and an overpowering scent of artificial cherries. A large, round seat-like structure sat in the center of the room and a shining silver pole was standing proudly in the middle, nestled between plush cushions and small throw pillows.

I’d felt Nigel’s hand slide up my arm and come to rest at the base of my throat, he guided me with his movements until I was facing the door. I could see Darko standing just outside in the hallway before Nigel moved his body between us; Nigel had ducked down in an attempt to try to catch my eyes and was unsuccessful as I rolled them to the ceiling. His fingers tightened slightly against my skin as he applied pressure and I was forced to move back to avoid falling, the backs of my calves bump into the seat but Nigel didn’t stop pushing until my body bent and I was forced to fall backwards onto the, oh-so soft, seat.

I had suck in a shocked breath and flung my hands out, they collide with the velvety material as I tryed to find purchase and to push myself up but before I was able to succeed, Nigel’s other hand landed heavily beside my head, his grip changed and he yanked my head straight by my chin. I had stared up, past his head, at the ceiling before shutting my eyes tightly and breathing deeply through my nose.

Nigel had made a noise, a deep rumbling sound before his hand slid under my shoulder and jerked my upper body upwards before a soft heat pressed to my mouth. My eyes snapped opened and, for a moment, I stared up into Nigel’s dark eyes before my brain was able to work out what had been happening. Nigel was kissing me, this kiss was so different than the blurred memory of the one we had shared on his couch, this kiss was vivid.

I had pulled my lips apart and gasp at the very thought, I’d inhale a slightly spicy and very smoky breath, drawing the air form Nigel’s own body as a moist wriggly thing found its way past my parted lips and into my mouth. My own tongue had curled back away from the intrusion before it spasmed forward to push Nigel’s from my mouth as it tickled the sensitive ridges on the roof of my mouth.

I whimpered when Nigel pressed his mouth to mine harder and his tongue continued its chaotic dance betwixt my lips, after a moment of unsuccessful oral defense on my part Nigel withdrew his tongue and simply moved his lips against mine.  The sensation was not all together unpleasant and I’d found myself responding, my hands found themselves pressed against Nigel’s stomach and I arched my neck to press closer to him as I’d accidently caught Nigel’s lip with my teeth.

Nigel released my chin and took my wrist into his hand before he pressed it up beside my head, holding it there for a moment before his fingers unwrapped themselves from my fragile skin and his hand vanished. A moment later, a metallic clicking sounds and seconds after that cold metal engulfed my wrist. My eyes flew open once again as Nigel pulled away from me entirely; I‘d yanked my arm closer to my body and cried out as my hand encountered the steel handcuff. 

“Now, you be a good girl and stay here, yeah?” Nigel said as he straightens himself, his face stretched into a smile as he leaned down to pats my thigh, “Can’t have you running around a place like this, now can we.” His question was rhetorical but I doubt I could have answered him if it hadn’t been so instead of answering I’d simply wrapped my hand around the metal pole and pulled myself into a sitting position.

I don’t know for sure how long I’ve been in this room, long enough for the songs to change 20 times, but how can one measure time in songs? I clench my legs together and try to focus on something other than my bladder and the obnoxious music as I lean my head back against the pole and pull my hood down over my eyes before I shove my free hand into my sweater pocket. My finger touch something thin and sharp and I pull the item out to look at it, the thin metal tool that I used to lock the window this morning and forgotten about rests in my palm innocently. I curl my fingers around it and turn around on the seat, wrapping my legs around the pole loosely before I shove the pointed metal into the keyhole and beginning the tedious task of picking the lock.

When the telltale click of the lock releasing sounds quietly, I sag in relief and put the tool back into my pocket before rubbing my cramping hand with my, now freed, one. I squeeze and release my fingers a few times before I use the pole to stand and stretch my achy body out.  I hop down from the seat and move over to the door, I turn the knob and am surprised to find it unlocked, but I suppose having locks on doors to rooms like these would be a bad idea anyways.

I pull the door opened slowly and peak my head out, looking out into the hallway, I step out of the room and shut the door behind me. I can hear the music pulsing from one end of the hallway, the way that would lead me back out into the main body of the club. I decide to go the opposite way, in hopes of finding an office of some sort, and a restroom.

I reach my arm out and let my fingers drift across the mirrors until I come to the end of the hallway, to my right is a flight of stairs and I don’t hesitate before I’m making y way up the stairs. At the top of the stairs is a series of doorways, I can see into some kind of dressing room where a nude lady is standing and running her fingers through her hair. In another room, I can see the lights of the club flashing through a pane of glass. I move through the doorway and a red beaded curtain before I come to stand at the window, I can see down into the club, I scan the crowd and immediately spot Nigel and Dark at the bar, each with a glass in their hands and wide grins on their faces.

I step back from the curtain and turn around, looking for a door that will lead me to a rest room. My eyes meet a child’s; he is holding a videogame in his hands and is staring at me. I bite into my lip, why is there a child here? I lift my hand in a tentative wave and her lifts his own in return, a smile stretching across his face before he looks back down at his game. 

I cross my legs and rack my brain for the word I had read on the airplane restroom door, I puzzle out the pronunciation before I open my mouth to ask. “Toaletă?” I ask, my lips stiff around the unfamiliar word, and the boy points behind him to a cracked door. I move quickly into the small bathroom, shut the door and flick the sideways switch to activate the overhead light before I yank my pants down and seat myself on the toilet to relive myself. After my bladder is empty and I’m finished cleaning myself off I stand and return my pants to around my hips. I spend a few seconds trying to find the handle to flush the toilet and once I do, I turn to the sink, washing my hands thoroughly before I dry my hands and push my hood down off my head.

I pull my hair back from my face before I run my fingers through the messy tresses, when I have a somewhat sleeker looking mess of hair I preceded to French braid in back and twist it into a bun at the base of my neck. I zip my sweater up all of the way and curl my arms over my breasts before I turn and let myself out of the restroom. Now that my bladder is not in distress, I am unsure as to what I should do, with my bodily needs and lack of harsh music I find myself in a state of peace, or something close.

I walk around the couch and seat myself stiffly a cushion length away from the boy who is focused on his game. I rub at my sore wrist, press my thumb up between my lips, and start the self-soothing act of suckling on my own flesh. I push my feet from my boots and curl my legs up on the couch. I let my eyes drift around the room and see an array of markers in a cup on the desk that is pushed back into a corner. I stand and walk across the room to search through the markers, I pick up one of the white dry-erase markers and flip it around between my fingers as I look back at the glass wall as a though creeps its way onto the forefront of my brain. I scoop up the markers and move to the window before shoving the shutters out of the way and dropping the markers on the floor beside my feet.

I focus on the smell of the markers and the patterns that I’m pulling form my memory. I am vaguely aware of movement behind me as I crouch to pick up another marker. Something is being dragged across the floor and in a moment, the boy is beside me with a small box of eve more markers and a chair. He picks up the markers on the floor and puts them into the box before sitting on the chair and holding the box out to me. I pull my lips into a smile and murmur out a ‘Thank you’ before I reach into the box and select my next color.

When an arm wraps around my neck and pulls me back against a firm chest I gasp and drop the marker in my hand, it lands on my foot before rolling onto the floor.

“Naughty girl, you weren’t where I left you.” Nigel’s hot breath washes over my neck as he whispers into my ear. “Isn’t that just the prettiest mess of marker you’ve ever seen, Darko? A real artist, my Adam is.” Nigel raises his voice to project it into the room as his deft fingers stroke over my neck and collarbone.

Darko laughs and says something Romanian that sends the boy at my side scurrying from the room, the door shuts behind him with a loud bang. I shift in Nigel’s hold restlessly before he releases me and I bend to pick up the marker. My fingers close around the body of the marker as an arm wraps around my waist and I’m lifted from the ground.  I drop the marker again and curl my hands around Nigel’s forearm, hoping that he won’t drop me.

“Darko, it’s been a pleasure. Now I’ve got to get this little one home,” Nigel’s face presses into the back of my neck as he finishes, “before she turns into a pumpkin.”

“That’s impossible!” I shriek as he spins and dips to pick up my boots before making his way out of the room, Darko waves at me with a wide grin on his face, “Cinderella isn’t real and the story is illogical.” I finish softly as he starts down the stairs.

Nigel stops in the hallway and pulls the same door opened again before he drops me on the chair and crouches to shove my boots onto my feet, “That’s not the point, Adam, it’s time to go.”

I nod and stare at his fingers as they work through the laces on my boots before he finds the zipper on the side. “I’m hungry.” I say as he zips the boot closed around my foot.

“What do you want?” Nigel asks as he stands and holds his hand out to me, I take it and am pulled up before he turns and pulls me out into the hallway.  
I bite my lip and quicken my pace to press myself against him as we enter the body of the club. Nigel pulls a pack of cigarettes that belong to a man seated with his back to us off of a table as he guides us through the crowd and out the door.

When we get outside the sun is shining down in a midafternoon way and it has heated up a bit, I push my sleeves up my arms as I follow Nigel to his car. I stare down at my feet and bump into Nigel’s back as he comes to a stop a few feet from the car.

“Well, look at what we have here, It’s the cocksucking tuba player and his little friends, come back to pay off your debts, eh Charlie boy.” I peak around Nigel’s arm and see Charlie standing in between a redhead and another brunette, both around the same age as Charlie.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Charlie spits put as he walks closer.

Nigel sniffs, lights a cigarette, and inhales deeply before he reaches behind himself to grab me. He shoves his keys into my hand and gives me a gentle push towards the car before approaching the trio. “What’s this now?” Nigel asks, “Tell me, Charlie, where is Gabi, I would very much like to speak with her about a personal matter that has just come up.” He says as I make my way towards the car, the keys jingling softly with my steps. 

“I’m not telling you anything, you greasy fuck, I saw the tape!” I pause and turn around quickly. No he didn’t, he’s bluffing, but why? Does he really think that Nigel will admit defeat and fall at his feet at his childish attempts to goad him? Nigel is smarter than that. I think.

“Tape, Charlie?” Nigel asks as he flicks the ash from his cigarette.

“You know what tape.” Charlie says mysteriously as he gets up into Nigel’s face in a vain attempt at intimidation. 

Nigel inhales a deep breath of smoke before he flicks the half-burned cigarette to the ground at his feet, in one quick movement Nigel kicks Charlie in the chest and immediately leans down and slams Charlie’s head into the concrete, “Where is it, Charlie?” Nigel asks lowly.

“Where’s what?” Charlie gasps, forgetting his little ploy in favor of his pain. Nigel slams his head down again and I hear the faint sounds of sirens, I look over to see Charlie’s brunette friend on his cellphone, his lips moving quickly.

“The tape, Charlie. Where is it?” Nigel asks as he grips Charlie’s shirt and drags him up only to slam his fist into his throat and send Charlie sprawling across the ground. The sirens grow louder and I rush forward and slide my hands under Nigel’s shirt, my left hand drifts over his scar as both come to rest on his stomach, hoping to persuade him with the tactile distraction I lean up, pressing my body to his back, “Nigel, the police.” I say softly into the material that covers his shoulder.

Nigel stiffens and turns, scooping me up again as he makes his way to his car, he takes the keys from my hand and unlocks the doors before he opens the driver’s side door and sets me inside. He shoos me across the console and slides in behind me as I settle into the smooth leather.

Nigel peels out of the parking lot and dodges through a few streets before he slows and his fingers flex against the steering wheel.  We drive in silence for ten minutes before my cramping stomach persuades me to speak. I clear my throat and take a breath, “I’m still hungry.” I say, and after a beat I add, “I want Mac and cheese.” 

Nigel’s throaty laugh reverberates through the cab of the car and he mutters something in Romanian before he pulls into a high-end restaurant’s parking lot and drives around to the back. He shifts the gears and puts the car into park before he turns towards me. I turn towards him, more out of social obligation than desire, before I rest my eyes on the piece of hair that has fallen onto his forehead. Nigel reaches out and pulls me to him, he presses my head to his chest and stokes his hand down my braid before he releases me and opens his door, “Alright, pretty girl, can’t have you starving on me.” Nigel steps out of the car and closes the door behind him. I’m frozen over the center console for a moment, confused by his actions.

I sit back in the seat and lean my head back against the headrest, I slide my thumb in between my lips for the second time today as I self soothe the foreign emotions away.  My cellphone Vibrates in my pocket and I reach my hand down to retrieve it. Harlan is calling.

I slide the button to answer and hold the cellphone up to my ear, “Hello Harlan.” I say clearly into the receiver.

“Adam! How are you?” Harlan asks, his voice soothes me with the familiarity it brings and I relax into the leather. “I’m well, thank you for asking. How are you, Harlan?” I ask politely. He laughs a hearty sound that makes me remember the two of us sitting in the park sharing lunch together, of when I had told him about Beth and Harlan had made the assumption that I was sexually attracted to the same sex, something I had never corrected.

“Fine, Adam, I’m doing just fine. How are you adjusting? How is Victor and his daughter, Gabby?” He asks.

“I’m pleased to hear that. I’m adjusting alright, Victor died and _Gabi_ was fine the last time I saw her.” I correct his error. The line is silent for a moment before Harlan exhales loudly.

“Adam, I’m sorry, how did that happen.” I go on to tell him the same thing I had told Beth days ago and we continue to converse for a few minutes, Harlan rants about how I should have just stayed there with him, how he could of taken care of me. I don’t doubt that he could, but I would never burden him like that.

When I look over, I see Nigel walking briskly towards the car with a familiar takeaway box in his hand his eyes focused on my hand, or, more accurately, the phone that’s in my hand.

“Harlan, I have to go, I’m about to eat.” I tell him, it’s not exactly a lie, I am going to eat soon, and I don’t want to worry him.

“Alright Adam, you stay strong and call me whenever you need to, or even just if you want to.” He says. I agree and we exchange goodbyes a moment before Nigel yanks the door open, slides into the car, shuts the door and snatches the, now disconnected, phone from my hand.  He looks at the illuminated screen, at the ‘recent calls’ list and scowls at the phone before he tosses it, forcefully, onto the dash of the car.

I jump and frown, staring at my expensive phone that now has more than a few scratches, I’m sure.

Nigel grabs my face and turns my head towards him, I look at his nose to avoid his eyes, “Who the fuck is Harlan, Adam?” Nigel grits out.

“He’s” I start and Nigel’s fingers twitch against my skin, causing me to stutter, “He- He’s my friend?” It comes out like a question and I swallow thickly. “He was my caretaker after my father died, before I came here, they were best friends.” I finish.

“Why are you so angry?” I ask quietly. ”He was only checking up on me,” I say,” asking if I’ve met any girls.” My lips twitch and I flick my eyes up to Nigel’s for a second before I focus them back on his nose.

“Girls?” Nigel asks as his fingers release mu face and stroke down my cheek. I nod in confirmation, that is what I had said.

“Why girls, Adam? Is there something you’ve left out?” Nigel asks as he hands me the takeaway container and pulls a metal fork in a cloth napkin out of his shirt pocket.

“When I had first told him about Beth, he had assumed that I was sexually attracted to her, interested in her as a partner rather than a friend.” I say as I open the lid and stab the curled noodles with the fork before shoving them into my mouth, they’re too hot and I open my mouth and tilt my head down, the pasta falling off of my tongue and back into the container.

Nigel hums and starts the car before pulling back onto the road. I spear another bunch of the rich pasta, but this time I blow vigorously onto the steaming bite before I shove it into my mouth. I continue in silence until my hunger eases enough for it to stop being uncomfortable.

“Do you and Gabi have an open marriage?” I ask around a mouthful of the cheesy goodness.

 “No.” Nigel says tightly. And after a moment of silence I continue.

“I only ask because she and Charlie had sex last night.” I say as I shove more noodles into my mouth, I guess I was wrong, I am good at small talk.

“What the fuck do you mean they fucked last night?!” Nigel hisses, his fingers gripping the steering wheel.

I swallow the partially chewed noodles in my mouth before I answer, “A- After Bela told Gabi about the tape, Gabi told Charlie and then they had sex.” I force the words out.

“Gabi knows about the tape.” Nigel says flatly, not a question, but I nod my head anyways as I pick the last few pieces of pasta off the plastic with to tines of the fork. I chew through the pasta before I swallow and set the fork in the container before I close the lid and set it on the floorboard. I turn in the seat and lean over the center console before I dig through my backpack and pull out my toothbrush and toothpaste, I apply a small amount to the minty paste to the bristles before I put the brush into my mouth and return the toothpaste to my backpack.

“What are you doing?” Nigel asks as I move to sit back into the seat. When I’m comfortable I move the brush against my teeth.

“I’m brushing my teeth.” I say around the handle of the brush before I work the bristles over the surface of my teeth.

Nigel scoffs and turns down the street that his apartment is on, he presses a button on the dash and a garage door opens. He drives in and parks in a free parking space that has his door number in it before he opens his door and steps out, I reach down to get the takeaway container as the sound of one of the back doors opening, some shuffling and then the door closing again sounds through the quiet cab. I grab my phone off the dash and open the door to get out, my boots land on the concrete and I stand, shoving my phone into my pants pocket, my toothbrush clenched between my teeth.

I shut the door and Nigel locks the doors before I can open the back door to get my bag and case, I look over at his questioningly and he holds up the items in question, each strap handing from his hand as if they weigh nothing. I shrug my shoulders and move around to the front of the car with the plastic container in my hands. I take my toothbrush out of my mouth as I follow him.

Nigel grabs the takeaway box and tosses it into a trashcan on his way through a door that leads into the shining lobby. He holds the door opened for me and I have to duck under his arm to move past him and into the marble covered room.

Nigel closes the door behind him and takes my elbow in his hand, escorting me through the shining fore and into the elevator.

The ride up is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. I pull my cellphone out and type out a text message to Beth, telling her about the tea I had this morning, expression my opinion on how I think that she would enjoy it, before I shove the device back into my pocket.

The doors open, and Nigel and I make our way down the hallway. I twirl my toothbrush between my hands as I wait for him to unlock and open the door. When the lock flicks and the door is opened Nigel walks in first, he drops my bags onto the couch before he disappears down the hall that leads to his bedroom.

I walk into the kitchen and turn on the tap before I proceed to wash my toothbrush off and rinse my mouth out. I pull a paper towel from the dispenser, set it on the counter, a rest my toothbrush down on it as I swish the cool water around in my mouth.

I spit the saliva cocktail out into the sink before I cup my hands and use the water to rinse the remains down the drain. I cup my hands under the faucet one more time and bring them to my lips, drinking the cool water down greedily.    
Two large palms slide under my arms and come to rest against my ribs as Nigel presses his body against my back, I shut the water off and dry my hands on another paper towel as the fingers of his right hand grip the zipper to my sweater and pull it down slowly. I swallow and take a deep breath, preparing for the answer to the question I am about to ask.  

“Are-“ I choke as Nigel nuzzles my neck and slides his large hands up across my ribs to cup my breasts, My body shivers, I press my thighs together as the sticky heat crawls through my abdomen and my nipples pebble at both the chill of the air and the warmth of Nigel’s hands.

“Are we going to have sex?” I ask bluntly, prepared for both answers and their physical consequences.

Nigel’s tongue slides against the skin of my neck, “Yes.” He growls against the soft flesh.

“I-I’ve never done this before.” I tell him as one of his hands slides down my stomach and under the waistband of my pants, his fingers slide over my bare mound before he slides his middle finger between my labia to press against my clit. I whimper lowly and grip the counter.

“I know.” Nigel replies before he pulls my sweater off and lifts me from the ground. His fingers don’t stop their movements as he carries me through the living room and into his bedroom. He sets me down at the bottom of the bed, his hand sliding out of my pants, and turns me around to face him before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips.

He pushes me down onto the bed before he kneels and removes my boots and socks. After discarding my footwear, he sits up on his knees and slides his fingers into the waistband of my pants and panties before he pulls them both down in one smooth movement. They’re thrown in the direction of my boots as he crawls onto the bed and rests his knees beside my hips, my torso is significantly shorter than his, so he has to bend to reach my lips for the next kiss he gives me.

His fingers slide into my hair as he works the burn and braid loose. When my hair is freed, he pulls back and sits at the foot of the bed. I sit up to watch him as he slides his shoes off, followed by his socks soon after, and loosens his belt before he stands and unfastens his pants, sliding the zipper down and letting them rest on his hips lazily as he waves his hand at me. I furrow my brows at his odd movements and shake my head at him.

“Move back, I’m much taller than you are and your feet are hanging off the edge of the mattress.”  Nigel says and I nod, turning around to crawl up to the pillows. The windows are open and there is a slight breeze that pebbles my flesh, so I slide between the sheets as I turn back to face him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, watching me, with one of his hands inside of his boxers, his hand moving slightly under the fabric.

“Fucking beautiful.” He says as he pulls his shirt off, tossing it to his right, and crawls up the bed towards me, his pants falling down further on his hips. The muscles in his arms ripple as he stalks forward like a panther. He grabs my knee through the covers and pulls me down on the bed, I land on my back, as he continues his way up. My breath quickens as I stare up at his face, his lips twitch as he leans down and pushes them against mine, his tongue push into my mouth as a rolling shudder works through my body.

Nigel drags the covers off my body and lands beside me as he kicks his pants and boxers off, I turn my head to look at him, but he’s back over me, pushing my legs opened to make room for his body, before my vision can settle.  He grips my hips and pulls me down further until the backs of my thighs rest on top of his.

He sits back on his calves and runs his hands over my legs and stomach, my insides curl and I feel moisture gathering inside of my labia. With my thighs on his, he leans back over me and strokes my hair out of my face softly, his eyes settling on my lips before he presses another long and through kiss to them. His right hand slips out of my hair before he slides his fingers against the heated flesh of my labia. He slips his fingers inside the petals and groans as they are enveloped by the wetness.

He presses his thumb into my clit as his mouth teases mine and one of his large fingers finds its way to my opening, circling softly before it pushes inside and curls against the upper wall. I hum and my jaw spasm, my teeth biting into his bottom lip harshly before I can regain control of the muscles.

“I’m sorry!” I gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind the harshness of my bite and I’m not about to bring it to his attention.

His other arm moves from beside my head and his arm makes its way under my lower back, causing me to arch over his forearm. My own hands, which I had been holding uselessly against my chest, grip his biceps as he slides a second finger inside of my body, the arm under my back seemingly intensifies the sensitivity of the lower part of my body.

Nigel moves his mouth to suck and nip at my neck and I turn my head to the side as he rocks his body with the movements of his fingers. The slightly familiar feeling of warm honey seeping gout from my clit starts to spread, first across my thighs, then up through my abdomen.

Nigel increases the speed of his fingers and uses the heel of his hand against my clit instead of his thumb. The increased contact has my thighs twitching and my tows curling. I tilt my head back as his fingers bump against the thin membrane that would need to be stretched carefully to avoid tearing, and gasp, my hands gripping at his back as he rocks over my body, his arm pulling my body closer to his.

A groan slides out of his mouth as he slows his movements and his fingers large fingers slip from my body. He rubs at my clit until I’m panting and my thighs are squeezing his sides before he removes his hand. I can heel his hand bump against my sensitive flesh a few times before he lifts his head and sucks his fingers into his mouth, scooping the gathered saliva out with coiled fingers before he rubs the slightly chilled slick against my opening.

He presses the tip of his penis against me and I tense, my muscles clenching against the flesh that is in contact with my opening. Nigel hisses and brings his left arm up to slide under my upper back, his hand splayed across the back of my neck, before he pushes into me with a small pulse of his hips before he draws back. I gasp at the almost uncomfortable stretch but my muscles relax at his retreat.

He continues this way until he’s worked the head of his penis inside of me. I wait, careful not to allow my muscles to contracts, for him to pull back out, but instead he continues forward, pushing deeper inside of my body until he meets the fragile membrane. He tighten his grips on my body, the hand that had been splayed against my lower back moves further under my body and curls over my side slightly and his fingers coil against my neck and shoulder, before he pulls me forcefully down the bed, sheathing himself fully inside of my body.

A broken sob crawls up my throat as I dig my nails into his back and tighten my limbs around his body, my stomach heaves as the muscles in my abdomen try to force him out of my body. I long, low, keen works its way from my mouth as Nigel rocks his body into mine, my legs pushing higher up his body as he thrusts forward. Nigel groans as leans up to press soft kisses into my neck, murmuring Romanian into my skin.

The pain doesn’t exactly go away, but it fades and I’m left with an not entirely unpleasant ache after a few minutes of Nigel’s rhythmic movements. He releases my neck and moves his hand back down to stroke my clit softly, carefully, so as not to overload my achy flesh. His thrusts increase and my body slides against the sheets, I groan as he nudges against a soft barrier inside of me, causing my cervix to cramp slightly. And press my mouth into his shoulder.

Nigel’s fingers speed up, making me arch further and whimper into his skin, my abdomen clenching as my body is forced to move past the achy feeling and embrace the pleasure pulsing through it. Nigel unwraps his other arm from under my back and slams it into the bed beside my shoulder, his fingers curling over the flesh as his movements increase, my body rocking with his as he bumps into my inner wall again in his haste. A growl rips from his throat before his hips slam into mine, causing me to cry out in bursts of pain, before his penis pulses inside of me and A burning heat fills me, the added lubricant makes Nigel glide much easier inside of my body, but is stings the torn flesh there also. After a few more soft thrusts, Nigel stills and presses his panting mouth against my neck.

My body slowly relaxes, my calves falling over Nigel’s hips loosely as he runs his hands over my body soothingly, my body still pulses around his softening penis, trying to chases after an orgasm, feeling owed one after what it had just been put through. Nigel’s large palm slides over my abdomen, almost apologetically before he removes himself from my body, I hiss as my muscles tighten as he leaves an empty feeling inside of me.    

Nigel sits back on his knees and looks at my face, his thumb wiping the still-moist tears off of my skin, as I look back at him, my face splotchy from the bursts of pleasure and pain. I pull my legs together around his hips until my thighs touch, my claves against his sides.

Nigel stares at me for a moment, calculatingly, before he reaches down, grabs the covers, and throws them over his head, his body disappearing under the heavy duvet as his body flattens against the mattress.  I frown as I feel him blow against my stomach, and gasp as his fingers splay my labia and his mouth envelopes the still sensitive flesh.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think so far.


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